


The Sun King

by queer_lxser



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, British Slang, But Not Very Good, Enemies to Lovers, Feelings, Let's be honest, M/M, Penelope Bunce & Simon Snow Friendship, Penelope Bunce is a Good Friend, Prince Simon Snow, Royalty, Sad Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Simon Snow is Gay for Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Is Gay for Simon Snow, historically innaccurate, implied sex, no magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:42:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 51,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25134094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queer_lxser/pseuds/queer_lxser
Summary: (title named after "Sun King" by The Beatles)(Royalty AU)Prince Simon Snow must marry before he turns 18 in a few months and he's never hated anything more. Not because he doesn't know who to court- he knows by now that his destiny is to wed Agatha Wellbelove and make her Queen of Watford- but because she is much more infatuated with Baz, who's only ever tried to fight Simon in any way he can. Simon's sure he's in love with Agatha (she's really pretty and nice to talk to), even though he's not quite sure what love looks like. He thinks Baz is in love with her, too, and that hurts like hell.Baz just wishes he could magically bring his mother back from the grave. And that Simon wasn't so infuriatingly heterosexual.(Updates weekly until finished! :) )
Relationships: Dev & Niall & Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Penelope Bunce & Simon Snow, Penelope Bunce/Shepard, Simon Snow & Agatha Wellbelove, Simon Snow/Agatha Wellbelove, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 120
Kudos: 99





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> So a few things:  
> I haven't written a fanfiction in over a year, so the writing will be a bit wonky the first couple of chapters as I get comfortable with writing something like this again. This first chapter is pretty short (at least for me- my usual chapters will be/ are usually at least 3,000 words long) because I just wanted to start the fucking story and actually post something before I become a coward and stop myself. Also I've never written on ao3 before (but I've been a user for about 2 years now) and the format's different than what I'm used to so sorry if sometimes it looks weird in any way I'm trying my best here. Also I promise this won't be like every other Royal AU ever I just didn't want to give too much away in the bio.
> 
> ok cool plz dont judge me too harshly i promise the writing will get better as the story progresses

**SIMON**

Agatha looks stunning tonight, in her dark blue gown- she’s got her pretty blonde hair put up in all of these braids and beads and it looks amazing on her. I think that I’ve said this to her about five times now, but she’s still wearing a disinterested expression on her face and her gaze is only getting more and more distracted as I attempt to have a conversation with her about equestrian sports (as if I actually care much about that) (my father made me learn a few things about them to impress her) (it isn’t going so well). 

Agatha confuses me the majority of the time. My father and her parents both expect me to court her and become romantically involved.They want me to marry her. She’s said to me in the past that this is what she wants, that she would love nothing more than to be with me. But she never seems to act like it. Or, rather, I don’t think that she does. I suppose I’m not actually all that sure what a person is supposed to act like when they love someone. 

But I’m pretty sure looking at other blokes as if they’re sent from God above is not the way to do it. I follow her gaze across the ballroom to none other than Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, who is leaning against a wall with a glass in hand, a smirk playing out on his lips. It’s infuriating. I want to slap it off his face.

Baz isn’t actually royal (well. That’s kind of debatable). His family ruled over Watford for centuries until around the time I was born, when Queen Natasha (Baz’s mum) died and Baz was ruled too young to become King at the time (his father wasn’t allowed to become the sole monarch of Watford as he was deemed emotionally unstable and unprepared for such a title). My father took the role of temporary ruler, then decided to take it upon himself to make reforms to the kingdom and appoint himself as King. 

So, Baz and his family hate me. Well. They don’t _say_ that they do (that would most likely end in a long war and a lot of death), but they sure act like it. Baz is always making witty remarks and insults at me and uses every chance he has to point out all of my imperfections. He’s even resorted to physical violence (I swear he’s tried to kill me before), but my father’s so desperate to maintain peace that they’ve been ruled as “accidents” or “child’s play”. Even when we were first introduced to each other at 11 years old, he took to teasing me from the second he laid his eyes on me . Initially, I tried to befriend him and change his mind about the whole ‘I hate your father and therefore you’ thing, but he’s never once budged. 

I gave up trying to be nice when he pushed me down the stairs (he insists to others that it was an accident, I’m convinced that was his first attempt at my assassination).

He’s here because his family has a lot of influence (and a hell of a lot of money as well), and father is always saying that you have to keep your enemies close or some bollocks. I wish Baz weren’t here, though, because I’m supposed to be courting the future Queen of Watford and he’s messing it all up by looking all cool and beautiful and shit (everything that I am not). I look like a numpty next to him.

He raises a brow at me from where he’s been watching Agatha and I and it takes all of my energy not to stomp over to him and yell at him.

**BAZ**

I don’t know why I even bothered coming to this idiotic trainwreck of a ball. Davy planned it- saying that it was for young people in positions of power to find partners- but it’s clear that by that he meant that it’s for _Snow_ to find a female suitor. To find a wife. So it makes no sense why I would ever subject myself to such an event- I hate just about everything about this godforsaken party. Well, everything except for the way Snow is looking at me right now. 

It’s pathetic, honestly. How much I do just to get a reaction from him. But I could never bring myself to stop, knowing that this is all I’m ever going to get to do with him. He looks fucking beautiful when he’s angry. His nostrils are flared and his face is red and blotchy and it’s quite the sight. _I hate myself._

I practically glide over to where he’s been uselessly trying and failing to make conversation with Agatha Wellbelove for the past hour, making sure to appear as calm and collected as physically possible (I do that much better than Snow does, he’s always stuttering and fumbling around). Agatha has her eyes locked on me, and much to my enjoyment, so does Simon. 

“Wellbelove,” I say, taking Agatha’s hand and kissing it (I don’t have to. But the way Simon’s cheeks turn crimson at the action is a perfectly good reason to do so anyway) (What the fuck is wrong with me?). “Snow,” I acknowledge, sneering at him. He looks just about ready to explode. 

I take Agatha’s hand and give her a polite smile. “Would you like to dance with me, Wellbelove?” She smiles back and nods, and I motion her towards the middle of the ballroom, where there are pairs of men and women (boys and girls? We’re all either 17 or 18, so I suppose it could go both ways) (half of them act like children anyhow) waltzing and talking over the music from the piano. I watch Simon the entire time (not to say that Agatha isn’t a great dancing partner. But I think I’d prefer Simon’s stumbling feet and clumsy steps). 

I hope Agatha changes her mind about him. Though I guess that’s awfully selfish of me to say. I know that Simon’s courting her, and that she wants him to (her family wants him to). I know they’ll probably get married (they will _most certainly_ get married). But it’s fun to indulge myself anyway- as if any amount of flirting would get Wellbelove to stop wanting the title of _Queen of Watford_. 

And the worst part is that they _actually like each other_ . Most of the time. Davy has invited all of these lonely monarchs to spend a month at the castle for Simon to be able to choose a fiancee, and all he’s been doing is trip over his words in front of Agatha and the occasional ‘discreet’ kiss. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever witnessed. But from time to time, Agatha will talk to me instead and fail miserably at flirting with me. I could never understand her. I think that if I were in her position, I would never choose someone over Simon _._ I don’t stop her, though, because I’ve convinced myself that that’s a step closer to keeping her from marrying him. (In her defense she _is_ flirting with a _homosexual,_ which must be very difficult compared to flirting with someone as annoyingly heterosexual as _Simon Snow_ ) 

I don’t really pay much attention to her as we dance- instead, I’m looking at Snow, who is wandering around the room, no doubt looking for Penelope Bunce. It’s sort of endearing to watch him stomp around like a child just because of me. _I wonder if he’d react the same if he knew the things happening in my brain._

-

**SIMON**

_Why does he have to be so bloody perfect?_

It’s the morning after the ball, and we’re all eating in groups in the castle gardens. I’m sitting on a floral quilt with Agatha and Penny, and Baz is with his mates, Dev and Niall. He’s wearing a deep green waistcoat and his hair is loose and wavy (he had it slicked back last night, but I much prefer it this way. It looks softer), pieces of it falling perfectly around his face. I hate that he looks so incredibly attractive without seeming like he even tried. Davy always insists that I get my outfits picked by a tailor whenever we have any sort of social gathering, and even then I could never pull off any clothes the way Baz does. Like they were only ever meant to look good if he wore them.

He’s whispering things to Dev and Niall, making them laugh with their hands covering their mouths as if they aren’t supposed to be finding what he said funny. I’m sure that he’s talking about me. Probably telling them how shameful it is that Baz could whisk Agatha away as easily as he did last night. It was completely embarrassing, and I’m sure that once my father hears about it he’ll have a few words with me about how I need to do better, and how important it is that I marry Agatha. Just the thought of it fills me with dread.

I’m expected to marry before I turn 18 in a few months, and it’s the most unbearable thing I’ve ever had to do. I don’t say as much to my father, of course. I always obey his orders, without question. I always trust that his decision is the best one in the long run. But I still wish I had more time to just get to know Agatha without having so much pressure on us. My father wanted to use this whole thing as an excuse for us to spend some time together and discuss our future, even though he’s also repeated to me that I’m allowed to court any other eligible woman.

But we both know that he’d be exceedingly disappointed in me if I didn’t marry Agatha. So when Baz looks over at us, first at me, before shifting his gaze to Agatha, and fucking _winks_ , I stand up.

**BAZ**

Simon Snow is advancing towards me with his fists clenched at his sides, and I’m narrowing my eyes at him. _So fucking dramatic._

Penelope, bless her heart, has stood up and tries to grab his arm before he can walk over to where I am. Agatha looks properly humiliated and is holding a hand to the side of her face as if to cover herself from onlookers. Snow is stalking across the garden to me and I almost think he’ll punch me right then. He probably wants to.

“Baz,” he snarls. I raise a brow from where I’m sitting on the ground and look him over as if to say _‘what is it now?’._ “A word?”

I roll my eyes, clenching my jaw and standing up (I was having a perfectly good time looking at him from a safe distance before he ruined the moment). He takes my arm (fucking hell) and practically _drags_ me behind a hedge, out of sight from any spectators. 

“What is your problem, Baz?!” he whispers angrily. (What a stupid question. Does he want a list? His name would be at the top)

I sneer at him. “I thought that I made it remarkably clear that _you_ are my problem, Snow,” I retort, crossing my arms. He’s right infuriated by my response. His brows are knitted together at the bridge of his nose, his eyes searching for _something_ in mine.

_Simon Snow. You can have all of it if you’d just ask._

“Are you in love with her?” he asks eventually, and I can tell he hates it. His eyes soften in the slightest- I wouldn’t have noticed, I think, if I wasn’t so observant of him. It’s ridiculous to think that he’s so astoundingly thick. That he’s asking me if _I’m_ in love with _Agatha_ . Sometimes I wish I could just tell him how wrong he is. How it’s _him_ I’m in love with. In moments like these, it takes every ounce of restraint I have left to not either kiss him or set myself on fire. 

I laugh mockingly. “What an absurd thing to ask,” I say, because I don’t want to tell him that I am most certainly _not_ attracted to Agatha and that there’s absolutely no chance she’d leave him. At least he’s doubting his marriage to her for now (though in the end all of this petty fighting and arguing won’t amount to anything). And I don’t want to lie and say yes. That’s the last thing I’d lie to him about. It would hurt him too much to think Agatha would actually love someone like me.

He glares at me. “Then why are you always trying to ruin our courtship? If not for you to marry her yourself?” Clearly he thinks he’s figured something out. He thinks he’s uncovered all of my evil plans and now he’s ready for competition. Simon Snow is a fool.

I smirk. “Agatha would like that, wouldn’t she?”

He almost raises one of his fists but then seems to remember that there’s people behind the hedge and no one likes a prince with no temper. “You’re such a fucking arsehole, Baz. Why can’t you just accept that this isn’t your family’s kingdom anymore and get over yourself?” I want to shove him into the grass. 

I can’t take being enemies with him sometimes. He’s insufferable, but I can’t hate him. It’s a curse. He could scream and yell at me and tell me how much he wishes I would just _leave_ and still, I would be hopelessly and cruelly in love with him. I could never stop. He’ll be married and he’ll have children and he’ll be _happy_. And he’ll be glad that I won’t be anywhere close to him. 

When I think that maybe I could just stop coming back. Stop tormenting him when it doesn’t benefit me, I remember why that’s impossible. Because he’s the sun, and I simply orbit around him. But I am capable of being angry at him.

“Get fucked, Snow,” I sneer, walking off and bumping our shoulders on my way out. 


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon tries to be nice to Baz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super excited about where the fic is going! I took the last few days to plan out the entire plot and I actually have a lot of motivation to continue writing this which is always nice. Thank you to the few people that commented on the first chapter, it always makes me feel more inclined to write when I know people will enjoy reading it. :) Also I wrote this chapter at 2 in the morning and then edited it at midnight a couple of days later so it might be a bit questionable ;-;

**BAZ**

I don’t remember much of my mother.

I remember her voice, clear as day- “it’ll be alright, little puff,” she’d say whenever I came running to her with a scraped knee or a bruised cheek. I don’t remember her face, but I know she was beautiful. She loved me more than anyone ever has or probably ever will. Sometimes I think that she would love me enough to accept the parts of me that even I can’t bear to exist with. Wishful thinking.

Back at home, in Hampshire, is where she’s been buried. I like to visit her and talk to her gravestone as if she could actually hear me. I do it because I feel she has the right to know how I am- she’d care if she were still alive. It’s incredibly stupid, but there’s no one else who’d be willing to listen. 

I don’t actually  _ know _ much about her. But I know that we’re similar in that we’d both catch flames for the people we love.

I’m sitting by the fireplace in one of the castle’s many rooms with a pack of matches in my hand. I have a habit of lighting matches when I’m feeling particularly self-destructive (which is most of the time). I smoke cigars, I have an excessive amount of candles- and ever since I was 13, I’ve had a sort of addiction with lighting matches and blowing them out right before the flame has reached my flesh. Of course, my family detests this and have told me countless times how dangerous and reckless it is to be so careless with fire. I suppose that’s another parallel I have with my mother.

The truth is, I could never rid the world of me unless I knew there was no use in staying. But I think about it sometimes. I wonder if Simon Snow would attend my funeral?

It’s easy to think most of the time that I’m incapable of true happiness. When everyone around me wants me to die trying to be something I’m not, and when the one thing that  _ could _ bring me joy is painfully out of reach. But then, I think that I  _ do  _ have something. I have a family. And friends. And money. Who am I to mope around and wallow in my self-pity?

I look at the match in my hand, the small flame moving closer and closer to the edges of my fingers, leaving black and burnt wood in its wake.

_ And yet it would be so easy. _

-

**SIMON**

The castle gardens have been decorated with pastel yellow and blue ribbons and there are tables of food and drinks set out for all of the guests to enjoy. There’s a harpist playing next to a few rose bushes and the sun is shining greatly above all of the guests. It looks brilliant. Women are wearing brightly-coloured dresses with loose ruffles and bows and men are wearing pale coats and white shirts. As I arrive, I look around for Baz. I’m sure he looks one hundred times more handsome than the rest of the men here- he always does.

Instead, I find Penny, who is looking nice in a light yellow dress (I’ve never seen her wear this one before) (I wonder if  _ she’s  _ looking to court anybody at this party) (whoever it is doesn’t deserve her). When her eyes meet mine she beams and walks over to me. 

“Simon,” she says, waving. I return the gesture and meet her half-way. “I’m so surprised that your father’s having an event like this for us- I always assumed he would be a man to choose more formal affairs.” We walk side by side to where there is a table with different scones set out for people to take (I may have had a say in what food would be served today). 

“Yes, well, I convinced him that we should also be having a variety of events to get to know each other more and have more chances to socialize,” I grab one of the small plates that have been set to the side and grab three sour cherry scones (I’d grab more, but people are watching). Penny only takes one and gets some butter and utensils (she gets a considerable amount- she knows me so well). I shrug. “I’m surprised he even considered my suggestion.”

We sit at a table nearby. There’s two empty seats left. Clearly, my father assumed that I’d have more people want to sit with me (I kind of thought so, too- being the Prince of Watford and all) (I think Penny’s the only one who could put up with me, though). I’m scanning my eyes through the small crowds in search of black hair and grey eyes but come up short.

I reckon Baz is doing this on purpose. Making me look stupid looking for him and worrying all afternoon as to where he might be. Tosser.

I’d bet he opted to skip this whole thing all together. Probably thought it was a waste of time to even show up in the first place (he doesn’t need to come here looking for a wife) (he could have any woman he wanted) (I wonder why he doesn’t?). “If you’re looking for Agatha, she told me she’d come by later so that she could have more time to prepare,” Penny says from across the table. I bring my eyes back to her and blink. I wasn’t even thinking about where Agatha might be. I suppose I didn’t see her, either.

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” I clear my throat and start buttering my scones. Penny knits her brows together and looks at me quizzically.

“Alright, Simon?”

I give her a reassuring smile. “Yes, sorry. As you said, I was just looking for Agatha. What’s the use of this party if I’m not going to talk to her, right?” I offer a small chuckle and she goes back to her usual expression.

“Have you thought about courting anybody else, Simon? You know, in case it doesn’t work out with Agatha?” she asks, taking a bite of her scone. Now it’s my turn to look confused. I don’t really understand why she’d ask something like that. Agatha has practically already said yes to marrying me. The rest of this is just a formality in case any other women interest me (which they don’t). 

I shake my head. “Why would I want to?” And it’s a genuine question. I’m fairly certain that I’m in love with Agatha, and from what she’s said she returns the sentiment- so why not get married? Most people in royal families just wait to fall in love  _ after _ they’ve wedded, so I’d say that our situation is perfect. And even if we weren’t in love our families want us to get married anyhow. Why doubt ourselves now?

Penny frowns slightly but ultimately nods and changes the topic. “Well, in other news, I’ve met a bloke,” she remarks, looking down at her plate. I grin.

“Penny! That’s great news! Tell me all about it,” I say, and she meets my eyes and smiles shyly. Penny, like Baz, isn’t royal. Her mother is part of my father’s court, meaning her family is considerably important and exceptionally wealthy. She’s told me that her family didn’t force her to come (she says they don’t want her to marry unless  _ she  _ wants to) (it’s very admirable of them) (I wish my father thought that way), but that she showed up anyway to make sure I didn’t fuck everything up for myself. 

Penny has her own chambers in the castle, and we practically grew up together. She's family to me. 

She swallows her food and nods. “Yes, his name is Shepard… His grandmother rules over a kingdom far from here. We actually met at the ball last week but we hadn’t really had much time to properly get to know each other. I haven’t seen much of him these past few days, but I’m hoping he’ll find me today and we can continue talking,” she says. It’s nice to see her excited about this.

I thought that she would dread having to endure all of these events with me, so I’m glad she’s found a way to benefit from all of this. I know she isn’t the type to marry quickly like the rest of us (most of us have families that think the quicker you marry the better), so I’m not expecting her to get engaged to this man, but I’m happy for her nonetheless.

We continue talking about what we think of all the guests that came and I quickly finish eating my scones (I end up not getting more because Penny says I’ll get sick) (she underestimates me). I’m mid-sentence when Agatha shows up and sits beside me. It’s already about an hour into the party so I’m surprised when she arrives. 

“Hello, Simon. Penelope. I apologize for coming late; it took me longer than expected to find the perfect dress for the occasion,” she confesses. I nod. I see her eyes move across the scene, searching for something, before she tilts her head a tad and looks over at me. “Have you seen Baz?”

Clearly I’m not the only one who’s wondering where he is. 

I feel a sort of anger flare up in my stomach (I’d never thought of myself as the jealous type- I suppose I really am in love with Agatha). I think back to what Penny asked me.  _ “Have you thought about courting anybody else, Simon?” _

__ I think if there’s one reason I’d ever doubt Agatha and I’s engagement, it’d be Baz. He’s always around, looking better than me, acting like he knows that every girl here must be absolutely infatuated with him (I don’t blame them). I’d understand why Agatha would consider changing her mind about me in order to marry Baz instead. Next to him, I look like a child who hasn’t learned how to talk properly yet. And I see the way she looks at him.

And Baz didn’t deny that he’s in love with her, either. The thought of it makes me want to scream. 

I shake my head and don’t meet her eyes. “I’m not entirely sure he’ll come tonight,” I tell her, and she looks disappointed. I hate it. 

Penny must notice that I’m upset, because she clears her throat, “Perhaps he’ll arrive later in the evening. I overheard his cousin Dev talk about what they were planning on wearing tonight, and I’m sure their plans to attend haven’t since changed.”

I almost think that she’s trying to reassure  _ me  _ that Baz will show up with the way she looks at me as she says that (which is absurd. She of all people should know that I’d never  _ willingly  _ be in the same  _ area _ as Baz). But Agatha seems to be satisfied with that answer, and turns her attention to me.

“You really should try to get along with him once in a while, Simon. He’s actually quite enjoyable if you just don’t pick fights with him,” she adds. I grimace. Penny has told me the same thing in the past, but  _ Agatha  _ suggesting I be nicer to Baz feels like a slap in the face. She’s taking his side.  _ I fucking hate him. _

How can they not see the way he and his family are constantly plotting against me? All Baz wants is to see my downfall. There’s no reason for me to  _ ever _ be nice to him.

But, if Agatha is just  _ so fucking keen  _ on us getting along, then maybe I can prove to her that I can get past grudges to make her happy.

**BAZ**

When I get to the party, I try my hardest to look like I arrived late on purpose. I hate to admit it, but Dev and Niall were the ones who had to convince me to come after they found me sulking in my chambers well past the beginning of the party. It took plenty of persuasion, but eventually I agreed. I wanted to see Simon. I thought that he would be happy at this kind of function, and happy Simon Snow is (shockingly) more charming than angry Simon Snow.

I make a show of not seeking him out, although I would very much like to see what he’s decided on wearing this afternoon (actually- I wouldn’t be surprised if he had his outfit chosen  _ for  _ him. There’s no way he’d have picked out that wonderful suit he wore to the ball). I plan on simply spectating on whatever it is people are doing here all afternoon. Maybe I’ll drift from group to group and entertain myself with petty drama (you’d be astounded by how many lover’s quarrels are occurring at these things) (it’s incredibly idiotic).

Evidently, Simon doesn’t care much for my theatrics when he stands and advances towards me the second he’s noticed my entrance. In a strange way, my stomach flips at the thought that he was so aware of my absence that he would immediately acknowledge my arrival the way he’s doing (I’m so desperate for him) (it’s disgusting). Wellbelove also seems to have taken note of me- she perks up at the sight (I don’t know whether to consider that a victory or be mad that she’d ever be happier to see me than Simon).

Snow looks lovely. He’s wearing a light blue coat and a white shirt and it looks great on him. The color of his coat matches his exceedingly ordinary blue eyes (the tailor probably did this on purpose) (I should send the man a gift basket).

I raise an eyebrow. 

“Hello, Baz,” he says, and it doesn’t come out as bitter as I expect. Penelope Bunce and Wellbelove are watching from behind him to see what he’ll do ( _ I’m  _ watching to see what he’ll do) (constantly). Simon looks back at them and makes a face as if to say  _ “I don’t know what I’m doing either.”  _ This is quite the display.

“I’d like to have a friendly chat with you,” he continues, and I must look confused at how  _ not hostile  _ his tone sounds because he sighs and rolls his eyes at me (that’s  _ my _ job). “I just want to talk, Baz- you know, like  _ normal people _ .” I almost laugh because Simon is anything but  _ normal _ . And his choice of words is atrocious as always.

I nod hesitantly and start walking towards a table with drinks on it, keeping my distance from where Simon is moving alongside me. I take two glasses of white wine and offer him one, to which he accepts (this is  _ without  _ accusing me of poisoning him, mind you) and we move over to an area where small groups of guests are socialising together. 

We’re both looking through the people to where Bunce and Wellbelove are now talking to each other (no doubt speculating as to what in the  _ bloody hell  _ has gotten into Simon) (I’m wondering the same thing). I take a sip of my drink. I decide on not being the first to speak- I’m not quite sure that if I start speaking, I won’t accidentally be too honest. I hear Simon take a breath.

“It’s okay if you  _ are  _ in love with her, you know,” he sighs. I turn my head to look at him, but his eyes remain on Wellbelove. He looks defeated.  _ Is this what he came here to tell me? _

I scoff and shake my head. Of course  _ he’d  _ be the kind of bloke to say that it’s acceptable for another man to be in love with the woman  _ he’s _ supposed to  _ marry _ . As if I wouldn’t much rather marry  _ him  _ instead.

“That’s ridiculous,” I mutter. He smiles a little and I want to kiss his lips.

“I guess it is,” he replies, taking a drink. Then he bites his lip and furrows his brows slightly. “Do you remember that time you stole my spinning top when we were children?” he suddenly asks, and I raise my eyebrow again even though I know he isn’t looking at me (it’s an instinct by now).

“I do. How is this relevant?” Simon Snow is probably the  _ worst  _ person I know in conversation.He’s always stuttering and tripping over his own words like he has a million things he wants to say, but doesn’t have the vocabulary to say them. I love that about him (which confuses me). I’m not sure if I’d be able to handle a world where he speaks the way he’s  _ supposed  _ to (Simon never does anything he’s supposed to). 

He shrugs (Princes aren’t supposed to shrug). “I was just thinking about how I didn’t even  _ like it  _ that much. I think I was just mad because  _ you  _ were the one to take it,” he confesses. I do laugh this time (I think Simon’s gone mad). It makes him laugh a little, too, and it’s wonderful.

**SIMON**

I find out that Baz’ laugh makes for much better music than the harp.

**BAZ**

“I did you a favor, then,” I retort. I still have absolutely no idea as to why he’s being so nice to me all of a sudden (I’m not sure that I know how to act around him when we aren’t fighting. I don’t know how to be his  _ friend.  _ Just another reason why I have to pretend to hate him). 

He nods, and I’m surprised to see that he doesn’t look offended by the comment. Usually by now he’d be balling his fists (I anger him so easily. If I breathe his way he gets agitated). Instead, he has a pensive expression playing out on his face (and I would do anything just to know what he’s thinking). I can usually read him like a book (when he looks at me he has but two facial expressions- angry and confused), but now that he’s trying to be nice to me, there’s really no way to know what’s happening in his head. 

Finally, he looks back at me and tilts his head. “Baz, maybe we should try to be friends. We could have a sort of truce or something,” he suggests, and it doesn’t sound forced like I’d have thought it would.  _ Simon Snow wants to be friends with me? Bloody hell. _

He must be joking.

I’d like to think that I have the choice to say yes to this ridiculous offer- to take a break from pretending to despise him- but, it would only make things worse for the both of us. There’s a reason why I’d much rather be enemies than friends. Being near him is like being next to an open flame. If I don’t protect myself from it, well. Then I burn.

But it’s also like sitting on the grass on a hot summer day. Like taking a drink of hot chocolate during a snowstorm. Being around Simon is like lighting a match in my cold heart when I think it’s just about given up on beating.

_ You make me feel alive, Simon Snow. _

__ “Snow, I-” I’m interrupted mid-sentence when Agatha waves over at us from their table.

“Simon!” she motions for us to join her and I thank God that she stopped me before I said something foolish. Simon is already walking towards her and I follow (I should just go talk to Dev and Niall now. I’ve crossed too many lines already.) 

**SIMON**

I think Baz was about to say yes before Agatha intervened. I really wish she hadn’t.

When we start heading towards her, I see Baz take a sip of his wine. He doesn’t meet my eyes. I want to ask him why not (I thought we were getting somewhere?). “I wanted to ask if you knew what the next big party will be?” Agatha asks, and she seems a tad tipsy. I sit down next to her and she places her hand on my shoulder, looking at me with lidded eyes. I expect Baz to sit across from us but he doesn’t. He’s still standing, looking uncomfortable.

He must be upset that Agatha’s giving me attention. I frown.

I almost get up to continue our conversation but Agatha doesn’t seem like she wants me to leave (this is a rare occurrence). I’m surprised when she puts her hand on my cheek and actually  _ kisses _ me. In  _ public _ (it’s considered inappropriate to display such acts of affection in public before proper engagement. Much less when technically I’m still searching for a wife). 

When I look back at Baz he has a cool look on his face. He looks at Agatha and I and practically scoffs before taking another sip of his wine. “A truce sounds like a horrible idea, Snow. Laughable, even. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he finishes his drink and leaves us, heading towards the table with used glasses and plates on it, sets down his own, and starts mingling with other guests, not glancing back at me. 

I turn my head back to Agatha and she’s already talking to Penny about why he’d seemed so bothered. I would like to know as well. Admittedly, I was being nice to Baz because Agatha suggested it and I was mad. But, I think I really  _ did  _ want to be friends with Baz (I should have known he’d just be a complete arsehole about it). When we were talking, I thought he was actually starting to like the idea, too. 

The rest of the night I don’t bother with participating in conversation with Agatha and Penny. They don’t seem to mind (though Penny does give me a few worried glances every once in a while). I’m not interested in whatever gossip they’re talking about anyway. It all seems pretty useless right now. 

  
All I can think about is how much I wanted to  _ stop fighting  _ with Baz. 


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz is avoiding Simon and Simon is absolutely not okay with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops sorry I havent been updating for like two months but I'm going to have a schedule now ( at least every wednesday- with school starting up I havent had any time to write but so far Tuesdays are my least busy days so I can write on those days and post the next)

**BAZ**

Before I left for Watford, my father told me that he wanted me to come back engaged. I remember nodding and avoiding the shaming look of his eyes. 

When I was 11 years old and Simon was at the edge of 10, my family and I were invited to spend an evening at Watford. I don’t remember much of the specifics now, but I do remember that they had taken Simon and I to the gardens to do anything other than listen in to what the adults were saying. 

I chased and chased after him, leaving footprints on the wet grass as I ran. I remember Simon pretending to be angry at me, but laughing whenever I got close and when he would try to lose me by weaving through the hedges. It’s one of the few memories I have of us being happy together, and still as children we would feign annoyance. We eventually grew tired and ended up lying down on the grass side by side, panting and laughing. That was the first time I thought of reaching over and holding his hand.

**SIMON**

Baz hasn’t been showing up to any events for the past few days, and he’s all I can think about (more than usual). I can’t handle not knowing where he is, what he’s doing, who he’s _with_. Just the thought of him being off with some girl makes my stomach churn. He’s only been attending the lunches, but I never see him eat at any other time of the day (how he manages to skip so many meals is beyond me. I can barely limit myself to 3 meals a day.) 

Agatha and I are sitting together under a tree a few ways off from the castle (it was just a short walk away- my father isn’t allowing for me to leave the kingdom until I’m engaged). She’s reading some poems by a local author to me that she’s told me is her favorite, but I can’t keep my mind from focusing on other things. 

Agatha is a lovely girl. She really is. She’s beautiful, and she’s very accomplished. But I don’t know how to be enough for her. I’ve tried learning about what she likes (I don’t even _like_ horses. They kind of scare me, actually), I’ve read books she always tells me are the best (it took me weeks to even finish a single one of them)- but it never feels like what others describe love to be. 

_“How do I love thee? Let me count the ways._

_I love thee to the depth and breadth and height_

_My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight_

_For the ends of being and ideal grace._

_I love thee to the level of every day’s_

_Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light._

_I love thee freely, as men strive for right._

_I love thee purely, as they turn from praise._

_I love thee with the passion put to use_

_In my old griefs, and and with my childhood’s faith._

_I love thee with a love I seemed to lose_

_With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,_

_Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,_

_I shall but love thee better after death.”_

Poets and writers say that love is otherworldly. That it is beyond human comprehension, and yet you _know_ when you’re feeling it. They say love is as sure as life itself and that it is unmistakable and true. That love feels like a human instinct, like there is one person who just _fits_. But, I don’t think that could be true. That you could love someone and know it. That it could feel like a part of you that can never leave. 

I’m _supposed_ to love Agatha. There’s no reason why I _shouldn’t_ love Agatha. She’s everything I could ever ask for and everything I could ever need. But my heart keeps its pace and my cheeks keep their color. So I think poets are wrong. I think loving someone with your entire being must be impossible. For a man to want a woman so much he would give anything for her. It all sounds like pure bollocks.

**BAZ**

I’ve been avoiding Simon for the past few days. I figured ignoring his presence until this whole thing is over would be the smartest choice for the both of us. And I’m miserable every time that we _do_ end up crossing paths. When I came to lunch yesterday, I was fully expecting to go unnoticed, but Snow had entirely different plans. He spent the entire time looking at me as if I was a riddle he couldn’t solve (which is the only way I’d have it). Then, whenever I looked back and we held brief eye contact, his face would turn bright crimson and he’d go back to eating.

It’s like he’s _trying_ to seduce me. 

I’ve always known Snow to be unbearably nosy, but I think this is the most obvious he’s been in a long time. I’ve even seen Bunce stop him from following me whenever I take my exit. (Thank God for Penelope).

Today, however, it seems Bunce has given up on her notion of holding Snow back. After lunch, when I get up from my seat to retreat to my chambers, Simon follows (in the most disruptive way possible, too. He almost knocks the chair back when he stands and I grimace). I try to lose him at first by taking a much longer way than I usually do- one with turns and multiplying hallways, but he keeps up with me until we reach the door to my room.

I turn sharply around before he has the chance to say anything, and his face goes red again (I love it everytime, even if his constantly surveilling me is a tad irritating). 

“What in the bloody hell could you _possibly_ want, Snow?” I hiss, and he takes a step back. 

His nostrils flare. “Where the fuck have you been? You never show up to the events anymore and I want to know what you’re plotting.”

_Oh, yes, Simon, my evil plot is to kiss you senseless and ruin your future. I’m practically as bad as Lucifer himself._

“Last time I checked, I have the choice to do whatever I want and go wherever I want. I don’t have to tell _you_ anything.” It’s almost humorous how frustrating he looks with my response. (I’m not entirely sure why he cares so much for my whereabouts- god forbid I leave his sight for a couple of days). 

“Well, I’m not leaving until you tell me where you’ve been.” He crosses his arms. 

I roll my eyes. As much as I am irreversibly, impossibly, disgustingly in love with Simon Snow, being around him when I know how much he hates me is not something I always enjoy. Knowing that, even if he _does_ look my way, for even a second, it’s all because of how much he despises my existence. And to not be able to just confess my love and pin him to the nearest wall and kiss him right there is just pure torture. So I hate when Simon gets like this. When he can’t leave me alone and I have to pretend in my head that it’s because he loves me as much as I love him. Because I know that’s a huge fucking lie.

So I turn back around, opening the door and entering my room, and yet not quick enough to keep Snow out. He stops the door from fully closing and pushes it enough to let himself into my bedroom. 

“I’m not about to let you go, Baz,” he growls.

“Fuck you, Snow. Why can’t you just leave me the fuck alone for one second? Don’t you have better things to do like kiss a pretty blonde or something?” I sneer at him, but he only walks further into the room, even sitting down on one of the chairs by the fireplace, a stubborn expression playing out on his face. The wanker.

I sit down across from him, but keep glaring at him. He starts grabbing at his hair. “I just don’t understand, Baz. I thought- I thought we were _getting_ somewhere- I thought we could be _civil_ for once. But then, you- you just fucking _disappeared!_ ” 

I clench my jaw and stare pointedly at him. “You’re delusional,” I retort. He knits his brows.

“Is this because of Agatha?” 

I almost burst out with laughter. 

_This oblivious idiot really thinks_ she’s _the reason I’ve been avoiding him._

_I can’t stay away from you for too long, Snow. My love for you is as inevitable as the rising of the sun._

“Not everything revolves around you,” I say.

_My world revolves around you, no matter how many days I spend trying to convince myself that it doesn’t._

Simon huffs and stands up. For a second I think he might leave me alone like I asked (the thought was, admittedly, a bit disappointing), but instead he waltzes over to where I’m seated and fucking _sits down on the ground in front of me_. I just about pinch myself at the sight.

“Please, Baz, can we just talk for once? I don’t-... I don’t want to _hate you._ It’s exhausting,” he breathes. I don’t say anything. To him, it might seem like I’m being an arse and ignoring him, but the reality is that I can’t risk saying something I might regret (like, for instance, _I never hated you, Simon_ ). He sighs in defeat. “Please say something, Baz.”

I don’t want to. I don’t want to allow myself the feeling that Simon Snow is offering a friendship. That he’s also tired of being enemies. I don’t say anything. I do, however, take my place on the ground next to him. But I don’t make eye contact. His lips break into a grin (fucking hell).

“Alright, then. I’ll do the talking for the both of us. I’m not leaving until I get something out of you.”

I roll my eyes again, but he doesn’t seem affected by it. In fact, I think his grin widens at the sight. Then he launches into a random commentary on Bunce’s love life.

He talks and talks and talks. Like this entire week all he did was wait for someone to listen to him. For _me_ to listen to him (oh, Simon. I could listen to your voice all night and never tire of the sound.). The words are spilling out of his mouth all at once, and he can’t seem to stop himself. And whenever he gives me a doubtful look, one that says _‘am I wasting your time?’_ , I just shake my head slightly and he continues with just as much enthusiasm. 

He tells me what I’ve missed at the parties I didn’t go to, hoping the thought of his bronze curls and freckles would finally stop plaguing my daydreams (it was foolish of me to think I could ever be strong enough to allow that to happen). Ladies arguing, men gossiping and flirting. The finest pastries Snow had ever had. I don’t say a word. I don’t want him to stop for me. I don’t want to fight him or tell him to leave. 

Snow and I don't usually talk as most others do. It's always an argument- we're always in a fight. An 8 year long fight. No- a fight that started before we were even born. A political one that's been passed down to us by our parents. And it doesn’t ever seem possible to escape. There's no way out that doesn't involve one of us ending in flames. I just hope it's me.

After a while, he finally (unfortunately) stops himself. I realize that I’m leaning my side on the chair, and I’m much closer to him now. I don’t want to move, though. I’m not sure if I’ll ever get to be this close again.

“Say something to me, Baz,” he whispers. “Anything. Anything at all.” He’s looking at me in the eye and I can’t bring myself to look away. This look is soft, though. I could melt. “I just want to hear you talk to me.”

I don’t know what he wants from me or how to give it to him. 

_It’s all for you, Simon. All of it. Every word and every phrase._

I want to tell him everything. I want to tell him about every thought that has ever crossed my mind since I first saw the constellations on his arms. I want to tell him he’s one of the only reasons I stay. That I only came to this stupid kingdom to be near him. That I couldn’t keep myself away.

“Simon,” I breathe, and I swear to every deity he’s looking at my _lips_. He’s not in his right mind. He’s gone mad. 

**SIMON**

It’s impossible, but I think I’m on the brink of kissing _Baz._ In the way women and men kiss. It’s illogical, but I feel like my insides are set alight with the want to _kiss Baz_. The thought feels right, though. Like it’s been there for a while and it’s been waiting for years to be acted on. I place my hand on his cheek. He flinches. 

There’s a knock on the door. Baz immediately stands up and refuses to meet my eye. I stare at the floor.

**BAZ**

_Fucking hell. Simon Snow almost kissed me._

I quickly get to the door, opening it to see none other than an annoyed looking Penelope Bunce. I can’t decide whether I should be grateful for her interruption or feel disappointed at her arrival. Or both.

“Baz.”

“Bunce,” I greet. She looks behind my shoulder where Snow has stood up. For the millionth time today, he’s blushing like a maniac. They should paint his portrait like this. 

She pushes past me (rude). “Hi, Penny,” Snow says sheepishly. Having both of them in my room is making me anxious. Penny grabs his arm and looks at me like I kidnapped him.

“I couldn’t find you anywhere, Simon! You just up and left. I figured you were trying to follow Baz,” she gives me a pointed look, “But I didn’t think that would take _half an hour_.”

Simon scratches the back of his neck. “Sorry. Baz wasn’t giving me any useful information. I guess he wasn’t plotting anything,” he laughs nervously. I raise a brow. Penny rolls her eyes and mumbles a ‘ _told you so’_ (which I appreciate from her part). She practically drags Simon out of the room, turning around to look back at me only once both of them have exited.

“Baz, I apologize for Simon being so nosy,” she glares at Snow, “we’ll stop bothering you now,” and she closes the door. 

_What the fuck._


	4. four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> baz shows up to breakfast and simon is absolutely chuffed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to post a shorter version of this on wednesday (yesterday), but I decided I would rather post a longer chapter for you guys the day after. plus, if I had posted it yesterday it would have been posted very late at night, so waiting until a more suitable time where people will actually see it seemed like a better option. I might actually end up making the posting schedule every thursday because my school's new schedule gives me a lot of free time on wednesdays. anyway, tell me what you think of the chapter in the comments! :)

**SIMON**

Things aren’t making much sense in my brain.

It’s probably barely 3 in the morning and I’m watching my ceiling and replaying that moment a million times in my head. Me, inching towards Baz, placing my palm on his cheek. When he called me by my first name and all of a sudden there was nothing stopping me from pressing my lips to his. It all seems like a dream to me now. 

_ A good dream _ , I decide.

I think about all the ways I  _ can’t possibly  _ have wanted to kiss Baz in that moment. I’ve even gone as far as to make a list in my head of all the reasons why I positively did  _ not _ want to kiss Baz:

  1. He’s evil. 



That one’s been nagging at me for a while now. It was so easy before to be certain that Baz was always plotting my demise or the next way he can make a fool out of me in front of Agatha. But now- now that I’ve seen Baz give me the softest look (at  _ me!  _ The look was for  _ me! _ ) I have ever seen on another human being- I don’t know what to think. He  _ can’t _ be evil- he’s just a boy. A frustratingly handsome, impossible to understand boy, but one nonetheless. It would be rather unfair of me to assume that he really is so malicious, considering he had me centimeters away from him and never tried to hurt me. I suppose I should take that one off the list, then.

2\. Our families hate each other.

But, do I care? I don’t want to think about this one right now, or I might never go to sleep.

3\. I need to marry. And princes don’t tend to marry possibly evil boys who belong to the family their father took authority from.

Also something I don’t want to think about. I stop making the list. I decide I hate the list. 

It was so easy, when Baz was  _ right there  _ and I could feel the roughness of his skin and stare into his pretty grey eyes, to just  _ want- to want so much I didn’t know I could want. _

__ At the time, I hadn’t even thought of the implications, but now that everyone is asleep and time feels like it could never end and the world is silent enough for my thoughts to make noise, I keep asking myself all of these  _ questions _ .

_ Do I love Baz? Do I want to kiss Baz? How long have I been wanting to touch the waves of his hair and the arches of his brows? _

It’s all too much to answer at once. But I don’t know how I’ll be able to keep myself from Baz the next time I see him.  _ If  _ I see him. Who knows if he’ll just decide to disappear again. I really hope not- I think I might go mental if he doesn’t come to breakfast tomorrow (today? I need to sleep). I need to ask Penny about this. Surely she’ll put me in my right mind and tell me I’m just overthinking things. She’ll look at me with that look she always has when I suggest something dumb and say,  _ “Simon, this is Baz you’re talking about. Of course you don’t love him. That’s ridiculous.”  _ Then I’ll agree and we won’t ever talk about it again.

“Fuck!” I say into the darkness. 

-

Thank  _ God. _

I ended up waking up pretty late (I’m currently running on about 5 hours of sleep, and I’m used to 10). I still woke up in time for breakfast, though. And as I enter the large courtyard, my eyes drift instantly to where Baz is sitting with Dev and Niall. He looks up at me, but only maintains eye contact for a quick second. My heartbeat quickens.  _ He actually showed up _ .

“Simon! I already got you food,” Penny is approaching me now, pointing to a table where Agatha has already taken her place and Penny seems to have placed my food across from her. She’s blocking my view of Baz- I knit my brows together but ultimately follow her to our seats. Agatha glances up from her food and I see a bored look playing out on her face.

_ Agatha.  _ Shit.

I know I’m  _ technically  _ allowed to be with other people right now as part of the whole ‘I need to marry before I can be King’ thing, but does that include boys? Arch-nemesis boys?

“Hello, Simon,” she greets, but doesn’t actually seem to be paying much attention to me. She turns slightly from where she’s sitting and looks towards where Baz is sitting, then turns back to Penny and I. “Baz actually came to breakfast today,” she sounds a bit giddy and I feel like throwing up. Penny looks at me.

“What did you say to him yesterday to get him to come? Please don’t tell me you threatened his life or something,” she says. I don’t want to answer, so I just shrug and start eating some of the fruit on my plate. I like food. Food is distracting. Penny takes a few bites of her own food before returning her attention to me. “Alright, Simon?” I nod and keep eating. 

I try to focus on that for a while- most of the time when I eat it’s easy to just enjoy the food and the conversation. It’s a bit more difficult of a task now. Whenever I look up from my plate, all I see is grey eyes and soft hair. Baz is sitting perfectly so that Agatha is only covering up half of him from where I’m sitting, and if I move over _just the_ _right amount_ , I can see the entirety of his handsome face and his striking outfit. 

I decide to do that for a while. Look at Baz. And maybe try to just think about  _ him,  _ and not the list from last night. It’s much more enjoyable that way. I’ve always done this, though. Watch Baz- see what he’s doing- wonder what he’s plotting. But that was when I didn’t know  _ not  _ hating Baz was also an option. So now that I’m looking at him just to indulge myself (I guess I was doing that before, too), I almost feel like I’m not allowed to look at him. And that Baz might seriously kill me if he finds me looking at him this way. I still hope he looks back, though.

He looks great, but he always does. He makes everything he wears look like it was only ever meant to be on him. Today he’s wearing a deep red vest that suits him very well and I could never pull off. I see him run his hand through his hair- his fingers pushing through the brushed strands- and he’s raising a brow, like he always does. I wish with my entire heart that I could stop watching him and actually get up and talk to him instead. I don’t understand why I don’t. 

“Simon,” Penny’s voice rips through my thoughts and I look over at her. She looks confused. I am also confused. “Stop staring at Baz,” she rolls her eyes, “It is much too early for you to be accusing him of plotting to kill you.” I almost go to say that that was definitely not what I was doing, but I stop myself. 

That’s when I remember that I arrived late to breakfast because Baz is starting to get up from where he was sitting with Dev and Niall and looks to be headed towards the door inside. Desperation starts to build in my stomach. Penny starts talking again. “You’ve barely said a word since you got here. Are you-”

“Baz!” I stand up. Baz stops. Penny is glaring at me. I move towards Baz and grab his arm- everyone is probably staring at me like I’ve gone mad- and I drag him indoors. Baz looks properly pissed off. 

“What the fuck?” he says. I look both ways of the hallway we’re in to make sure we aren’t being watched. Then, I take his hand (I’m holding Baz Pitch’s hand right now! What the hell is wrong with me) and once again bring him forward, pulling him to where I knew the nearest storage room was, pushing him in, entering, and closing the door behind us. It’s quite dark in here, but I can make out the look on his face. Just about the same as when I threw a tea cup at his head when we were 13 (good times).

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Snow?” he hisses. 

_ That’s a good question. _

__ I wasn’t really thinking when I decided to bring him here. I just knew I couldn’t just let him  _ leave _ like that. I wasn’t going to wait until the next time one of us does something stupid for us to talk. So I just sped up the process and did the stupid thing before he had the chance. 

I go to rub my neck with my hand but realise I’m still grasping his. I let go and chuckle nervously. I wish I could have held it a bit longer. He raises an eyebrow at me and folds his arms. I clear my throat.

“I just- I wanted to- I couldn’t just  _ let you _ -”

“Spit it out, Snow,” he sneers. I let out a frustrated breath. 

“Just- meet me at the waterfall at midnight,” I say. He puts his eyebrows together.

“And why exactly would I meet up with my arch-nemesis in the middle of the night in the forest?” he retorts. 

I sigh.  _ He’s acting like nothing’s changed _ . “Baz- Please?” I look at him desperately. I just need to talk to him. I  _ need  _ to. If I don’t say anything now I’ll end up pretending I never thought of the possibility I might want so much more than what I have and nothing will ever change. But, something  _ has to change _ . I can’t stand feeling like I don’t have permission to stop hating Baz. I don’t hate Baz.

He looks at me for a second before nodding silently. Then, in one swift movement, the door’s been opened and he’s left. 

For a second I stand there (probably looking like a numpty), grinning.  _ This is progress. _

“Simon?” 

It’s Penny. She’s standing at the door. I smile sheepishly. She must have seen Baz leave. Instead of leaving the small room, I gesture for her to join me. She reluctantly does, and I close the door behind her. I sit down on the floor with my knees close to my chest and she follows. 

I like the dark. For a long time, it was my greatest fear. I used to think the castle was haunted- it was once the Pitches’, and I used to think Baz could talk to demons or something) (I still haven’t completely ruled out the possibility). But now it feels safe. Like no one and nothing can get me when I’m here.

“Penny, what do you think of homosexuality?” I whisper into the darkness. I hear her shift. I don’t move. I just stare straight ahead and imagine what Penny looks like beside me. The look she could be giving me. 

I don’t know why I ask her that, but I do. Though, I don’t think the fact that Baz is a boy bothers me all that much at all. But, I’ve never seen myself as one who would  _ be  _ a homosexual. There’s Agatha, isn’t there? And although whether I’m in love with her or not is a confusing question, I certainly have felt attracted to her before. Agatha is a girl, so how can I be a homosexual?

I didn’t really think about it before it came out of my mouth. But, I think if there was anyone I’d want to share my thoughts with it would be Penny. 

I hear her hesitation. “I think it’s just as valid as heterosexuality. Simon, you know my mum and I have been pushing for homosexual marriage for years,” she replies. I sigh and look up. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know why I asked. 

Homosexuality, while not entirely taboo, is completely unacceptable for anyone with power. It is seen as something only those who are impoverished and hold no power experience. Definitely not soon-to-be kings. I don’t know why the topic is bothering me so much. Baz still hates me and I’m not even sure how I feel or why. It’s too frustrating. I press the palms of my hands to my eyes and exhale. Penny hugs my side. I’m glad she doesn’t ask why I mentioned it. I don’t know the right words.

-

**BAZ**

I’m lying down on a blanket under a raspberry tree and I’m thinking.

Today is a lovely day- the sun is shining through the branches and leaves and onto the grass and it’s wonderful. There’s a slight breeze and I can hear the light rustling of flowers around me. I take a breath.

My father wants me to marry a woman, but all I’ve been doing these past couple of weeks is pine hopelessly over Simon and think about burning this entire castle down. I don’t know if I could go through with it. Marrying a girl. I would hate to know that I would never learn to love her and I would be wasting her time and mine. But, I think that once Snow is married I’ll be able to do it. Once I know for sure he will never be mine (I know  _ now,  _ but a part of me is always holding on). 

I’ve been considering actually attempting to court a woman the past few days- admittedly, I don’t think I’d have much of a problem finding a girl who would be willing. They all think because I’m never seen doing anything more than dancing with women that it would make them special to get through to me and win me over. But the truth is that I simply prefer bronze-haired blue-eyed blokes. It almost makes me feel bad that I’m not attracted to women.

Maybe I could marry a woman and have her know of my homosexuality. I’ve thought about it before. An agreement that we could see other people while legally binded to each other. Of course, it would just be her seeing other people in this situation. I don’t think I’d want to be with anyone but Simon. 

My father doesn’t have a clue of my true feelings or that I have no real intention to marry any time soon. But, I think he knows something of it, based on how disappointed he always is when he asks me if I’ve met a girl and the answer is always the same. I haven’t told much of it to my Aunt Fiona, either. She’s aware that I prefer blokes, but doesn’t know I’m in love with the son of the man who stole our kingdom. There’s no use in telling her.

Simon Snow invited me to a rendezvous with him at midnight, and the anticipation for it is unbearable. It’s embarrassing. 

Every time I pass a clock, I count the hours until our meeting. Whenever I have the time for it, I think about what he’ll do and what he could possibly say to me that he would pull me from the courtyard so defiantly like he did. And with witnesses, no less. 

I keep telling myself that all he wants is to tell me something idiotic like how much he despises me or how he’s planning on executing me once he’s king. Anything other than what I hope it is. This used to happen a lot more when we were younger and I had just realised the way I felt. Little moments where I give myself false hope-  _ maybe Simon will tell me he feels the same way! maybe he’s just pretending to hate me in the way I pretend to hate him!  _ I’ve learned to know better. To expect the sting of every growl, every comment, every time he flirts with Agatha or I catch them kissing behind a hedge. I’ve learned that living like this, admiring Simon Snow in secret and hoping the more I insult him the less I’ll feel love for him- this is all I’ll ever get. I’ve accepted that. 

But it’s hard not to get your hopes up when the boy you’ve fancied since you were 11 held your hand and told you to meet him where you used to play as kids.

_ The waterfall _ .

When we were children, Simon and I weren’t friends. But we were constantly put in situations together. He was already best friends with Bunce when we found the waterfall. We were probably 14. Our parents (Simon, Penny, and I’s) had let us go wherever we wanted while they had a court meeting (my father only goes because Davy wants him there to make him look like a better person after practically robbing us of our home and titles) (I fucking hate Davy). We all decided to venture out behind the castle and went far enough to where we became surrounded by trees. 

Snow and I were in the middle of a fight when Bunce stopped us and told us she heard running water. 

It was what we all just call (very creatively) “ _ the waterfall _ ” and I haven’t been there in years. We used to go there every time we had nothing better to do (which ended up being quite often). Snow and Bunce would swim in the river while I read books under trees next to the water. 

It was nice. Snow wouldn’t say anything to me and I wouldn’t say anything to him. A few times I thought I might have even caught him smiling at me from the river, but it was probably just a figment of my imagination. It was better than fighting, though. 

And now Simon Snow wants me to go back there to tell me who knows what. I just hope he doesn’t kill me there. Much too pretty of a spot.

-

It’s almost midnight.

My door makes a small creaking sound when I open it, tearing through the silence of the night. I don’t know why I would agree to do this. It was foolish of me. But now that I’ve said that I would and I’m standing outside of my chambers and I can’t see very far in front of me, I don’t want to think about any consequences. 

I try to not make too much noise as I make my way slowly to the back doors of the kitchen (I know this place like the back of my hand- they usually don’t guard this exit as much as the others). For anyone else, getting to the waterfall would not be such an easy task. There is no light, no sounds to guide you (not yet at least- you have to be a little bit further from the castle to actually hear the water), and you’re all alone. But I’ve always been that way. And I was the one who went there the most, ironically.

Whenever I thought too much about the things I’d lost and the things I’d never have, I would go out to the waterfall when I knew no one else would be there, and I would just sit and  _ breathe _ . Not think. Do anything but think. I think too much all of the time. Which is why I stopped going. It became too hard to turn my brain off, and going there started doing the opposite of what it was supposed to. It made me think of Simon, Simon swimming, Simon smiling, Simon laughing. He ruined the place for me with his freckles and his curls. So one day I just stopped thinking about it. Stopped coming. I don’t know if Snow ever did, though.

I’d know my way there if I were blindfolded.

I move forward, soft steps on the grass, listening to the wind brush past me. I avoid running into any trees or bushes. It’s easy when you recognize every bit of soil and bark. I keep going forward without hesitation. This entire thing is impulse. There is no logical reason for me to be here- or for Snow to have invited me in the first place. 

Eventually, I hear it. The sound of rushing water. I stop and take a breath. I didn’t think I’d ever come back here. I thought I would leave this place in my childhood and forget all about it by the time I turn 20. And yet, Snow has dragged me from place to place all day and I’ve let him.

_ I would follow him to the ends of the Earth if it meant I got to just get a bit closer to him. _

__ But, there is nonetheless no logical reason for me to be here. Anyone else would have thought the invitation to be suspicious and not worthwhile, but I’m a fool. An absolute madman.

Simon Snow is sitting by the river, his back facing me.

I could still leave. I could still keep the small amount of dignity I have left within me and get back to the castle. I know the way.

But I don’t. I take a reluctant step forward that makes enough noise for Snow to turn around and look at me. I’ve been out in the dark for enough time that I can see him pretty well. I know he can see me, too. He beams. That’s a new one. Usually by this point he’d be threatening to punch me.

I make my way to where he is, and he follows me with his gaze. It’s unsettling not to know for certain what he’s thinking. 

“Baz,” he whispers when I sit beside him. I don’t look at him. I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know what’s happened to Snow or why he seems to have changed his mind about me (Snow has always been too stubborn to change his mind about  _ anything,  _ much less anything concerning me). I don’t want to be friendly with him or have a fucking  _ truce,  _ if that’s what this is about. 

He’s still looking at me. I can tell by the way his breath slightly touches my cheek. And then he looks back at the water. I don’t think he knows what he’s doing. He just wanted to lure me here and try to pry information from me or try to kill me. But he has no idea what he’s doing. It’s laughable. 

Then, a finger is touching mine. I almost flinch at the contact but decide I don’t want to stop him from doing whatever it is he’s doing. I think Snow has lost his mind. Properly gone insane. But, his fingers are climbing across mine, finger by finger, until they’re all intertwined and in place. Like two pieces of a puzzle. His hand is warm. It feels nice. I exhale. 

“Why did you invite me here, Snow?” I say, turning my head to look at him. He’s admiring the soft curves of the water’s edge. He’s moving his thumb around over my hand (drawing circles and circles and circles) and I don’t acknowledge it. He shrugs.

“Because I wanted to,” he mutters. I scoff quietly. He shrugs again. He looks at our hands. “Because I wanted to,” he repeats himself. Fucking hell. 

Then, in one swift movement, he pulls the both of us into the water.

**SIMON**

_ Because I wanted to. _

_ Because I wanted to. _

_ Because I wanted to. _

**BAZ**

I hear his laughter before I even resurface. I’ve never actually swam in this river before. I always felt like that was for Snow and Bunce to do and for me to leave be. But it’s great. Sure, the water is cold and the water is murky, but there’s also the moon shining down on us. And Simon, laughing and laughing and smiling and splashing me with water as if it’s the most normal thing to do. As if we’d never hated each other.

**SIMON**

Baz has strands of black hair swirling around his forehead sticking to his skin. His linen shirt is gripping tightly to his body, and I wonder why I hadn’t done this sooner.

**BAZ**

Snow is practically mocking me. I keep having to turn away from him, blindly pushing water towards him as I try to wipe at my eyes. At one point I get exasperated and decide to end this- I grab Simon by the shoulders (this seems to stop him from whatever he’s doing), and I  _ push him right into the river _ . 

It’s magnificent. He’s thrashing and laughing and every time he resurfaces, I let him breath before pushing him back down. He’s  _ touching me.  _ Putting his hands on my shoulders and holding my arms. And it’s so casual and I feel like I could drown. I stop pushing him down. He has his hands on my arms still. He’s smiling. I could die.

“Baz,” he breathes (he keeps saying my name like that- like it means so much more than it actually does). “Baz, Baz, Baz, Baz, Baz,” he says quietly. I try not to look away. This is too much. Too much being nice to Snow and too many times he’s said my name in anything other than disgust. It’s too much for me to handle all at once.

His fingers are going behind my ear, playing with strands of my hair. I don’t move. I don’t know if I’m dreaming and I’ll wake in a pool of sweat with my heart aching. I don’t  _ want  _ to. I want this to be real. Fucking hell, I will murder someone if this is just my subconcsious fucking with me. 

The moon is tracing every bit of Simon’s face- his freckles, his curls, his blue eyes. This must be a dream. It absolutely  _ must  _ be a dream because his lips are so close to touching mine it’s impossible.

It’s all so sudden. My eyes are closed, and he presses his lips to my own- pushing forward gently. I’m pressing back, and my hands are on his cheeks and our legs are tangled in each other under the water. It feels like a million forest fires have just been set off inside me- like I would die from lack of oxygen if he ever stopped. But, he’s not. He’s putting his arms around my neck, as if he couldn’t stand not being closer.

My hands are in his curls (I’ve never been this close) (everything I thought I knew is unfamiliar). He’s jutting his chin in this way that I’ve never seen before and I love it. His lips are nice and boyish- rough in places where he’s made a habit of biting them, and soft everywhere else. It’s  _ Simon.  _

_ I’m kissing Simon Snow. _

_ And he’s kissing me back. _

__ “Baz,” he whispers again in-between kisses. I don’t think this place could ever be ruined by Simon Snow.


	5. five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> simon just wants to be happy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls tell me in the comments if you prefer i post more frequently with shorter chapters or less with longer chapters :) thank you to everyone who thus far has commented on the story, I read every single one and it's the main reason I stay motivated to write regularly. :D hope you enjoy!

**BAZ**

I never thought that I could ever have the privilege to wake up next to Simon Snow. To open my eyes, bird songs in my ears, and catch sight of bronze curls and sunkissed skin. And there’s a freckle on Simon’s left eyelid I hadn’t noticed before. 

Snow had brought blankets because he thought initially that we would be spending our time last night speaking to each other on _land_ , but clearly that is not what happened. 

Last night, Simon Snow kissed me. Again and again and again, under the moonlight. He held me closer and he touched every part of my face and held on to my hair. He rubbed his thumbs over my cheeks and he held my hand. It was like he was trying to make sure he did everything in case I decided to leave him in the middle of it. 

_I can’t leave now, now that I know what it feels like to be kissed by Simon Snow. For him to want to kiss me. Things will never go back to the way they were._

We fell asleep next to the river, side by side. I woke up earlier than him, which is something I didn’t know I did. I didn’t know Simon likes clinging onto whatever he can as he sleeps (his bare feet and his legs are impossibly tangled in mine- they weren’t like that before) , I didn’t know that his hair is messy and disheveled before he has the chance to tame it. There are so many things I didn’t know before. When I thought I couldn’t possibly love Simon more than I did. But seeing him like this, learning that there are so many things I was missing out on, it’s hard not to.

**SIMON**

When I wake up, I see Baz. He’s looking away, but he’s facing me. I want to kiss him. That’s something I can definitely admit to now. Wanting to kiss Baz. 

I still can’t believe I actually did it. I still can’t believe he did it _back._ I still can’t believe how much better that felt than kissing Agatha.

I don’t want to think about Agatha right now. Or marriage. Or the throne. But I _do_ want to kiss Baz. And that’s all that matters to me right about now.

I peck Baz on the lips (he looks shocked for about a millisecond, as if that’s the first time we’ve ever kissed) (I like shocking Baz).

“Morning,” I grumble lazily, pressing the heels of my palms to my eyes and trying to rub out any tiredness from them. Baz sits up and I follow suit. I lean against his shoulder and close my eyes, listening to the rush of the water and the breeze through the grass. I breathe in. I breathe out. I never thought it could be this way.

I laugh. I feel Baz turn to me and I peek through my eyelids to see him raise an eyebrow. “What?” he asks, and he almost seems offended. I close my eyes again and smile softly, shaking my head.

“I just think it’s a bit laughable that we were enemies for so long, when we could have just been doing this instead. I like this much better than fighting,” I reply. He shifts. 

-

We’re having lunch in the gardens today. I’m currently getting dressed in my chamber, giddy with excitement. All morning I’ve been thinking about how things are different now. Wondering what I’ll do when the time comes and I am obligated to marry. 

I want to be with Baz, I think. I don’t know if that means I want to marry him, but I want to be with him. There’s no rules that say I have to marry a _woman_ . Sure, technically same-sex marriage is illegal, but I’m the _future king,_ for Christ’s sake. I’m certain convincing my father to legalize it won’t take too long if it’s the only thing keeping me from taking the throne. If I threaten to become emancipated otherwise. I’m willing to do that if it comes down to it, I think. 

I want to treat this like any other courtship. _God,_ I want this to be like any other courtship. Why does it have to be different? Baz may be a sort of rival in some ways, but if I think about it hard enough there are a lot of benefits to choosing Baz. He’s rich. And it would unite our families and give us both a lot of power. 

I’m probably getting ahead of myself. I just want to be able to _choose_ if I want to be with Baz or not. I don’t like feeling like I’m not allowed to love Baz, even if I don’t quite know if I do yet. I want the option. 

So when I arrive at the gardens and I see Baz in all his glory, sitting with his usual company on the grass, I decide to sit right next to him today. 

“Snow,” he narrows his eyes at me. “What the hell are you doing?” I narrow my eyes back, and give him a confused look. Surely he’s over pretending to hate each other by now. He _must_ be. I know he felt something, too. And how can you feel something like that and feign ignorance?

“I wanted to sit with you today, Baz,” I say, and I reach out to grab his hand. He yanks it away before I get the chance. That hurt.

Dev and Niall are looking at each other and at me in pure perplexity. He didn’t tell them anything. He didn’t tell _anyone_ anything. And based on the way he’s looking around at everyone around us (who I’m sure are staring at us- I choose to ignore them), he doesn’t want to. He’s moving away from me. I don’t like this.

“Have you gone mad, Snow? Are you trying to figure out my plot or something? For fuck’s sake, go sit with Bunce and Wellbelove,” he gnarls. I grimace and clear my throat. My heart feels like it’s being crushed. It isn’t pleasant. I swallow. My face is turning red.

“But-”

“Must you keep insisting? My business doesn’t concern you. Leave me alone,” he scowls. I tighten my fists, then exhale and get up. 

Penny and Agatha are sitting on the opposite side of the garden, looking stunned. I don’t say anything as I storm across and sit down next to them, crossing my arms. Both Penny and Agatha are getting closer to me, curious expressions playing out on their faces.

“Simon?” Penny glares at me, “Why were you bothering Baz again? Has he done something I’m not aware of? Did he hurt you?”

_All of the above._

I put my hands in my hair and pull at the strands. “He- Just that- I don’t- We-” My words aren’t working again. This always happens. I can never say what I mean. 

But, I don’t know what the right thing to say is. If he doesn’t want me to sit with him, to hold his hand- there has to be a reason. Maybe he doesn’t want me as much as I want him. Maybe he wants to forget about it and go back to hating each other. Maybe the entire thing was a figment of my imagination and I made the entire thing up.

“Simon, if you want we can talk about this later. I’m worried about you,” she says. I nod and look away.

I hate this. All of it. Not being able to just sit next to Baz. Not being able to tell Penny. Having to choose between the certainty and security of Agatha or the risk and danger of Baz. And not knowing whether, if I _did_ choose Baz, if he would choose me, too. And all because we’re two boys. So _what?_ I don’t get it. It’s all so frustrating.

-

**BAZ**

When I get back to my room, there’s a small note on my bed. ‘ _For: Baz’_ it says in large, messy writing. I already know who it’s from just by looking at it. _Simon._

_Meet me in my room at 3._

Of course he’d want to meet after what happened at lunch today. Simon Snow is insufferable. If he had just gone along with it, people wouldn’t be whispering left and right about how he had tried to take my hand. I couldn’t let him do that. I wanted to. _So badly._ But I wasn’t going to be the one to ruin his image. Or anything about him. So I pulled my hand away. I had to.

I’ve had years and years of practice pretending to loathe Simon Snow. I’m not new to it. But I’ve never seen him look so incredibly hurt by it. I’ve seen him look angry, sad, frustrated with the things I say to him. But not like this. He looked so _dejected._ So _confused_. 

At 3 in the afternoon, I make my way to where Snow’s room is. I’ve never actually been in it before. He’s never let me. 

I stand in the hallway, across from his door, knowing I should be knocking. But, it’s hard. I keep having these choices- these moments where I could stop and put everything back the way they were, the way they’re supposed to be. I never do what I know I should be doing. I should have never gone to meet him last night. I should have pushed him out of my room when he demanded to enter. I should have never come in the first place. Begged my father to let me stay home when he had court meetings. 

I knock on the door, softly, three times. I almost make a run for it. I already feel like an idiot. 

It opens, revealing Snow, whose hair looks like a bird’s nest. His habit of pulling on it is horrendous. 

“Baz!” he says, and he pulls me in before I have any time to respond. I nearly lose balance. In a second, he has me pushed against the door, his hands on my shoulders.

Then, he kisses me. Hard. And I kiss him back, moving my hands to be behind his neck, pulling him closer. His mouth is hot, his lips taste like scones. It’s different than last night. I press my lips to his, over and over again, and it feels amazing. It makes me want to scream. Or punch someone. Thinking about the fact that it can’t always be this way. 

Suddenly, cold. In one swift movement, he’s gone, headed towards his bed. The tosser.

I follow him, taking my seat across from him on the mattress, our legs crossed. I narrow my eyes at him. He moves a bit closer. 

“Sorry, I just needed to make sure I wasn’t dreaming it all up,” he laughs sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. I raise a brow.

“What?”

“You know,” he bites his lip. “I thought maybe I’d just imagined everything that happened last night. With the way you spoke to me at lunch, I thought…,” he doesn’t finish. He looks down. “Baz, I just… I wanted to make it clear to you how I feel because I want to be on the same page with you,” he says, looking back up. I nod slightly, knitting my eyebrows together. He sighs.

“I don’t know if I love you, Baz, or what loving is, really,” he starts. I look away. “But, I know I want you. I want to kiss you and I want to hold your hand. And I miss you when you’re not there or when you ignore me and pretend that you hate me. I love it when you call me by my name and the way your hair feels through my fingers. And I think that feeling isn’t new. But I haven’t figured out what any of it means yet, Baz.” I want to leave. I want to set this castle on fire. I want to set myself on fire. “I want you, Baz. All of you, if you’ll let me have it,” he whispers.

_Stop. Stop saying what I want to hear. Stop making me feel this way._

_If I could give you every part of me, I would, Simon. But we both know the consequences._

He takes my hand, the way he wanted to this morning. This can’t be happening. It _shouldn’t_ be happening.

“Agatha,” I say, standing up and taking my hand back. “You have to marry Agatha.”

“Baz,” he puts his eyebrows together. “What? I don’t-”

“Imagine how she feels- her prince charming being so absent all of a sudden,” I back away, “You should probably check on her. And get started on picking the engagement ring while you’re at it, yeah?” I sneer. I want to leave. I can’t stand being here any longer. Not with the way he’s treating me. The things he’s saying. It’s all wrong.

I’m about rushing towards the door at this point. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to ruin his future or anyone else’s. He doesn’t know what he’s thinking. He’s just being ridiculous, just experimenting or something. 

Snow grabs my wrist abruptly, stopping me. “Why do you have to do this?” he growls. “I want _you._ Why do you have to punish me for it?” His face is red and his nose is flaring. This is the Simon I know. This is the Simon I can deal with. I pull my wrist back and snarl at him.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Snow. You don’t know _shit,_ ” I open the door forcefully and slam it behind me.

**SIMON**

The echo of the door rings in my ears.

So much happened so fast, I didn’t have any time to make sense of it all. 

I stand there for a few minutes (or hours) (or years). My fists and jaw are clenched and I don’t know why any of it happened. Or how. 

“Fuck!” I shout. I want to punch a wall. I almost do. I want to scream loud enough for the entire kingdom to hear me. 

I look at where my training sword is resting against a wall in the corner of my room.

I rarely have to do this, but when I get angry enough, it’s the only way to cope (it usually has to do with Baz. Or my father.). I grab the hilt of the sword and swing it around me with as much force as I can muster, and the blade hits a leg of my bed. The action makes a loud _‘clang!’_ and I love it. I repeat it. Over and over again. I don’t want there to be any silence. 

I shouldn’t have been so forward. _Clang!_ I shouldn’t have kissed him when he arrived- clearly it means nothing to him. _Clang!_ I shouldn’t have alluded to anything. _Clang!_ I shouldn’t have said _anything_ at all. _Clang!_

Fuck Baz, fuck Agatha, fuck the law, fuck the throne.

It’s all just complicated bullshit. None of it makes sense and all I want is a happy ending. Is that too much to ask for? Fucking hell. What is so fucking wrong with finding boys attractive? Wanting to marry them? Why can’t I choose?

When I finally stop, there are a million marks on the metal of my bed frame. I lazily throw away the sword and watch it slide across the wooden floors. I sit, my back resting against the bed. I sigh.

I think I’m crying. I’m wiping away at my cheeks. My face is wet with tears. I hug my knees closer. I’m trying not to make too much noise- I’ve probably already disturbed half of the guests by now. My hands are a bit shaky. 

I don’t like these feelings. They only happen when I take the time to think about things. Which is why I usually prefer not to. Because it’s usually painful. Whether it’s Baz, my father, my mum… it always ends the same. Tears, screams, white knuckles. It never changes anything. My father still expects me to marry, my mother is still dead, and Baz still hates me. And he wants me to propose to Agatha.

A week ago, I would’ve been glad that he was encouraging my engagement. I wouldn’t have given it a second thought and I would be asking Agatha to marry me. He wants me to go back to that. But I can’t pretend to hate him. And I can’t be ashamed of wanting him, either. Who could ever be ashamed of loving Baz Pitch?


	6. six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> penny advice column

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo! Thank you to everyone who has been commenting continuously on this work, I appreciate it so so much :) I will be keeping my current updating schedule where I post long chapters one day a week! Another question- I have the chance to shorten the plot a bit so I can finish this work quicker (no, it's not ending anytime soon, but for the future), do you want a more complex plot or do you not mind taking it down like probably 3-4 chapters? I hope you enjoy!

**SIMON**

It’s been almost an entire week since I last spoke with Baz- there’s only just about a month left until everyone goes home and quick wedding planning will start (they already have everything planned except for the wedding dress and seat plans) (hell, I was measured for my outfit before anyone even showed up).

It’s unbearable. Not being able to talk to him. Every time I get too close, he pushes me away. I wish he’d just let me be with him. 

I want to tell Penny all of it. About Baz kissing me, me kissing Baz, Baz telling me to marry Agatha. I have no clue what to do now. But, I don’t know if Baz would appreciate me telling anyone about us (if there even is an ‘us’ at this point) (God I hope there is). So now Penny is sitting in front of me, legs crossed, on my bed, and I’m speechless.

“Si? Use your words,” she says. I want to cry. Or yell at her. I don’t know how to explain any part of what I’m feeling or why. Not without revealing too much. As much as I think Penny would handle the information well, I don’t know what the consequences of telling her would be. That isn’t to say that she would dare tell anyone else, but rather I think if I told her it would be too real. Too irreversible. I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from doing anything stupid.

“I don’t even know where to start, Penny,” I mumble. I take a deep breath. I haven’t made any eye contact (if I make eye contact I’ll tell her everything. I know it). “I don’t know if I love Agatha. Or if I ever did,” I start, and I shrug. Saying it out loud isn’t as hard as I thought it would be. It sounds true enough. 

Kissing Baz, holding him, seeing him even, makes me feel so vastly different than with Agatha. It feels  _ better _ . Like I wouldn’t want to do anything else at that moment. With Agatha, it feels like I’m constantly having to prove to myself and her that we’re in love. Like if I don’t kiss her enough times or remember to talk to her at enough events, everything will fall apart. Like we’re continuously on the verge of ending our relationship. It’s nothing like when I’m with Baz. I don’t have to remind myself of how much I want to be with him, or try to force myself into liking what he likes (I don’t know shit about violins, but I think I would melt onto the ground if I ever saw Baz play one). 

But saying that I don’t love Agatha definitively is hard. Because I think I have to marry her. And convincing myself that I’ll be in love with who I marry is so much easier than admitting the opposite.

Penny nods. “To be honest, Simon, I never believed that you were. Being with Agatha, courting her, it never seemed to me that it made you as happy as it should have if you had been in love with her,” she replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. I frown. 

“I don’t think it was  _ that  _ bad,” I say. Penny raises an eyebrow like Baz does. I bet they would get along. They’re both headstrong and insanely intelligent. Penny has her gaze on me- it’s hard to look away. She’s trying to figure me out. 

“What made you realize this, Simon? Is it something she did? Did she call off the courtship?” she asks. I bite my lip. Now comes the hard part. 

My face begins to burn up. “I, err, I think I may be in love with someone else,” I mutter hesitantly. I already know Penny will freak the fuck out when I say it, which is why I try to say it as quietly as possible. I know she’ll ask questions, but I don’t know how the hell I’ll be able to answer them when I probably won’t even know the answers.

Penny gasps. “No way. Who? And how did you keep that from me? I spend nearly every moment I can with you, and you managed to fall in love with someone without me knowing? Are you getting married? Does Agatha know? Does  _ the King  _ know?” Her words are spilling out of her faster than I can process them. I feel like if I open my mouth I’ll regret what comes out. But I don’t want to keep Penny in the dark. That’s the last thing I want to do. Plus, maybe if she were to understand the situation I’m in, she could help me organize my thoughts.

“I can’t tell you who it is,” I frown, “I don’t think they’d appreciate it very much. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier- I didn’t know if there would be consequences to it,” I say. She knits her eyebrows together at the bridge of her nose.

“It can’t possibly be that bad. Is she not rich enough? Doesn’t have enough authority? You know I’ve always told you to marry for love,” she replies, and I sigh. 

“No, it’s not that- they- um- their family doesn’t really like me? Like, on a political level,” I clear my throat. “And, um, I don’t think I’d be allowed to marry them, like, legally. I don’t even- I don’t really know what I want anyway,” I say. It’s so hard, dancing around everything. Having to think so much about what I say. 

Penny bites her lip. “Okay, so, you can’t marry her because you don’t think her family would let you? Or yours?” I nod, even though there’s more to it. A lot more to it. Too much. “Have you talked to her about anything? About Agatha? Do you have a plan?” 

_ I was hoping  _ you _ would, actually. _

I shake my head. “No- not- not really. But, they… they want me to marry Agatha,” I look down. Penny gives me a pitying look. I hate it. 

“But, what about you, Simon?” she says softly. “What do  _ you _ want?”

_ Jesus Christ. _

I hold my head in my hands and inhale. “I don’t know what I want, Penny. I don’t know what it  _ is  _ to love someone. I don’t know if I do. And I don’t know if it matters,” I whisper. 

I’ve never had great examples of what love looks like between a couple. My mum died giving birth to me, and my father never remarried after her death. How are you supposed to know when you feel it? I’ve heard from Penny that it can be easy to  _ think  _ you’re in love with someone when really you’re just in love with the idea of them, or the version of them you have in your head. How are you supposed to tell them apart?

Penny sighs. “I don’t know how to help you, Simon. I think you need to figure out how you feel first, and whether it’s worth it.”

I nod solemnly. I wish things were easier. “Thanks, Penny.”

-

That night, I decide to sneak into Baz’ room. 

I’m too impatient for this. 

The floor is cold when I step out of my room (I thought not wearing shoes would help with not making too much noise) (I kind of regret it now I’m not going to lie). It’s dark (it must be around 1 in the morning by now), and every time I go past a bedroom door I try to hold my breath. 

When I get to his door, I realise that I have to knock.

_ Bloody hell, I just want to see Baz. Christ. _

__ I knock on the door two times as softly as I can manage, then immediately look around in case anyone heard. I wait (I feel moronic). No answer. I knock again, this time a bit louder. My feet are so fucking cold. A louder knock. 

_ Goddammit Baz, open the fucking door. _

__ I go to knock again, but the door opens right as I’m about to hit the door. Instead, I hit a chest. My face burns up. Baz looks properly pissed off.

“For fuck’s sake, Snow, quiet down,” Baz hisses. I grin.

“Fucking  _ finally.  _ How much time does it take for you to open a door? My god,” I breathe. He scowls, but lets me in (I was worried he wouldn’t) (I think the only reason he  _ is  _ is because I was making so much noise). 

I can tell by the open book on his night stand that he wasn’t asleep when I knocked. It shocks me because I always imagined Baz would be the kind of bloke to have a strict sleeping schedule (maybe he does, but he wasn’t able to sleep) (maybe he was thinking of me) (maybe not). He sits on the floor, in front of the fireplace. I sit down next to him. He’s glaring at it. 

“Baz, I- I thought about what you said, and… Baz, I don’t want to pretend like none of this happened. I don’t want to act like we hate each other and ignore what we have,” I sigh. He looks at me, still glaring. 

_ God, he’s fit. _

__ **BAZ**

I haven’t been sleeping much lately. It’s hard to when there’s so much to think about. Simon, Simon getting married, Simon becoming king, Simon kissing me. Me kissing Simon. 

I knew he would do something like this eventually. Simon Snow has the patience of a 2 year old. But, I wasn’t able to plan out exactly what I would say to him. Truthfully, all I wanted to do at first was barge into his room unannounced and declare my love for him right then and there, but the more I thought about it the less intelligent the decision seemed.

And after what he said to me ( _ “I want  _ you.  _ Why do you have to punish me for it?” _ ), it was impossible to know what the right decision was. It was impossible to know how to feel. How to think. 

I never prepared for the possibility that he would actually be  _ civil  _ with me, let alone  _ fancy  _ me. 

“Do you know why I’ve always flirted with Agatha, Snow? Why I always dance with her at balls and kiss her hand in greeting?” I say. He looks pained, but he shakes his head. I look back at the fire. “I thought if I could make you jealous of seeing me with her, for just a second, I could imagine that you were jealous because  _ she  _ was dancing with  _ me. _ It’s ridiculous, I know,” I give a sad chuckle. I didn’t think I’d ever tell him that.

When I look back at him, he shrugs. “Maybe I was.”

I don’t give myself the chance to think about what that could mean. I glare at the fire again.

“Snow, do you know what would happen if anyone knew about us?”

**SIMON**

_ There’s an Us. _

**BAZ**

He doesn’t answer, but he purses his lips.

“My father would probably kill me, for starters. So would the entirety of my family. There would be chaos everywhere, not only about the fact that a crown prince spends his free time snogging a bloke, but also the fact that that bloke is basically his sworn enemy,” I say in a low voice. I don’t mention that we can’t get married. It would be too much. He would know then that I’ve thought about it.

_ I’ve thought about it a million times. _

__ “But, I don’t think I would be happy any other way,” he whispers. I close my eyes tightly. “How could I? You’ve always taken up my thoughts, Baz, you know that. How could I marry someone else when all I can think of is you?”

I open my eyes. I think the room will burst into flames. I look at him, and make eye contact.

“I’ve accepted that my future won’t be fair. I’ve accepted that I’ll eventually marry someone I won’t be in love with. You should, too, Snow. It’ll be easier that way,” I say. His nose flares and his eyes get glossy. His eyebrows meet at the bridge of his nose. He exhales harshly. I narrow my eyes at him.

“Maybe,” he looks frustrated. “But I still want to be with you. In secret, if we have to. Just-” he takes my hand, “Just don’t go disappearing like that all the time, yeah? I like knowing where you are. I like knowing that you’re safe. And, in case I haven’t made it obvious enough, I really like to look at you,” he murmurs. He's leaning forward, his eyes are lidded. 

I press my lips to his. I almost laugh from it all. 

_ Simon Snow. So bloody stubborn. _

__ The kissing is good. Every time, it’s always good. It’s soft and gentle and innocent this time. As if it’s the first time we’ve ever been this close. Maybe it is. Simon is taking his time, I think. I want to do the same. To feel like all we have is time. Like we could go on like this forever.

He keeps jutting his chin out and getting closer to me and I couldn’t possibly pull away.

I love his hand in mine. His mouth is warm, and so is the rest of him. He’s always been the sun. 

My free hand goes to his cheek, delicately, like he’s made of porcelain and I could break him if I touched him too much. All of it feels so fragile, so new, yet I’ve kissed him before. It feels different, somehow. Real. Within reach and yet so easy to lose. When you love someone, you run the risk of the pain you would experience at their loss. But, I won’t let go of it. I  _ can’t.  _ He’s too lovely, too beautiful. 

That night, he sleeps in my room, with his bare feet tangled in the sheets, and I pray to every deity I know that he’ll be there in the morning.


	7. seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Simon Snow can't bother getting out of bed. (Just a shorter-than-usual fluffy chapter)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to everyone who interacts with this work! I appreciate all of it and it always motivates me to keep writing regularly (I'm so proud of myself for maintaining a schedule haha)! I might twice week next week just because I have a lot of motivation to write :) I wrote this while drinking coffee at 11 pm. I might edit it tomorrow but I probably won't. I hope you enjoy!

**BAZ**

By the time Snow wakes up, I’ve already indulged in the fact that he slept in my room, and have gotten up to begin preparing for breakfast. When he sits up on the bed (I wouldn’t make him sleep on the floor) (I volunteered myself, but he insisted we share the bed) (I could have screamed), his hair is extremely messy and he’s rubbing his eyes. 

I look at myself in my full-length mirror at the corner of the room, buttoning up my white shirt. “Sleep well, Snow?” I say, raising an eyebrow at his reflection. He groans and falls back on the pillows ( _ my  _ pillows. Simon Snow in  _ my  _ bed).

“Baaaaaz,” he whines (he’s insufferable when he’s just woken up, it seems. I love it). “Can’t you lie down with me for just a few more minutes? I don’t want to wake up,” he groans. It’s hard to refuse him, but I know I won’t be able to keep from sleeping all day if he asks me to (which I know he would).

“You know, you’re going to have to get to your room without anyone seeing, right? And with only your night clothing on,” I snicker. He gives me a look of disbelief before scrunching his face up and groaning, putting his face in his hands.

“I didn’t even think of that,” he mutters.

“Of course you didn’t. Frankly, I only thought of it just now,” I say, and I turn to face him. It feels so oddly domestic to see him there, complaining about wanting to sleep again, while I put on my coat. There’s something so intimate about seeing someone this way- every accessory stripped away- seeing someone be  _ human _ , in the simplest form. I feel privileged to be the one standing here, to be the one he wants to lie back down with. 

_ God, what a sap I am. Disgusting. _

Simon tilts his head- looking at me with his ordinary blue eyes- and smiles. “You look nice,” he says. And then the tosser lies down and buries himself in my blankets. I want to kiss his eyelids and tell him he can sleep for however long he wants.

Instead, I roll my eyes (I don’t really mean to, it’s just a reflex), and go towards him. I sit at the edge of the bed, next to his feet. He opens one eye and peeks at me before closing it again. “Snow. Come on, Bunce must be looking everywhere for you,” I remark. He probably didn’t think about that either (I don’t think he thinks much at all about his actions before he does them) (hence why he’s currently in my bed instead of his). “She’ll think we finally murdered each other.”

He rolls over on his side so that his back is facing me. “Just give me five minutes. Please, Baz? Your bed is so much softer than mine,” he replies. I sigh and stand up again, going to the door and slipping my shoes on.

“I’ll bring you back a few scones,” I mutter as I reach for the door handle. I see him open his eyes a little and grin. I roll my eyes again.

-

When I arrive at the courtyard, there is already a plentiful of people there, eating at tables, discussing politics and gossip, sharing opinions that I would probably disagree with. It’s a nice, warm day, and it’s the first time I’ve felt happiness in a long while. I laugh at the absurdity of it.

Bunce and Wellbelove are sitting together, and, as I predicted, Bunce is turning her head in every direction, probably looking for Snow. When Wellbelove catches sight of me, I see her mutter something to Bunce (who looks confused, as am I) and stand. She walks towards me and I knit my eyebrows together. I was hoping that getting Snow and I’s food would be quick, but with the way she’s looking at me now, I can tell that Wellbelove has other plans.

_ What could she possibly want? _

“Baz,” she says. I raise a brow. “Can I talk to you? Somewhere private?” I narrow my eyes at her. I take a quick glance at the scones and then look back at her before nodding sceptically.

“Sure, Wellbelove,” I reply. Her face lights up a bit at the response.

She guides me inside, bringing me behind her, and she leads us into a large empty hall. She turns to face me. She has a look of intent, of determination (not something you see very often on Wellbelove). 

“Baz,” she sighs, “For the past few weeks, I’ve been confused. I didn’t know how I felt, I still don’t. But, well, I’d like to make sure that I don’t throw my life away,” she says. I’m still confused as to why she felt the need to tell me this, or why she brought me here.

I glance around. “Is that all?” 

She takes a deep breath. “No, there’s… there’s more, but… I think it’d be best if I used my actions instead of my words.” Her eyelids begin to fall. Whatever it is she thinks she’s doing, it’s ludicrous. She’s leaning in and her lips are in a pout. I back away. This is not happening. 

“Wellbelove,” I clear my throat. Her eyes flutter open and her face goes red. 

“But, I thought- I thought you- you wanted-” she falters. I’m not sure exactly what to do in this situation. Obviously, I’m going to turn her down, but I don’t want to allude to a reason as to why I don’t want to kiss possibly the prettiest and wealthiest girl of any of the nearby kingdoms. 

“I can’t,” I say.

“Why?” she sputters.

I try quickly to think of what response could satisfy her. “You’re going to get engaged to the Prince,” I start heading back where we came from, “You’re going to be Queen,” I say. 

I hear her huff. “That isn’t certain, you know. It isn’t like he doesn’t have other options. And he hasn’t proposed. I’m done with people telling me what my destiny is,” she retorts. I roll my eyes, though I’m turned away from her, still making my way back to the courtyard.

I don’t respond to her. All I wanted to do this morning was get Snow and I’s food and go back to my room. 

I decide, as I get closer and closer to where I can hear the distant noise of people’s chatter, that I won’t tell Simon. What would be the use? It would only harm him. We agreed that he wouldn’t give up his courtship with Agatha, and the last thing he needs is to know that she tried to go after someone else (I’d like to think that he wouldn’t like her going after  _ me _ , especially). And I didn’t let her kiss me. There is absolutely no reason to bring this up to Simon. I’ll pretend nothing happened, as always.

I open the french doors that lead out to the yard. Penny looks at me from where she’s now seated with a man I’ve never seen before (is he courting her? She probably deserves better), but I don’t spare her a glance. I just want to get back to the room. I go to where the scones are being served and grab five of them (I’m pretty sure I got a few looks) (I don’t care, I don’t want to be here). I can’t get them fast enough. I don’t take my time getting back inside.

On my way back to my room, I pass a few people who give me confused glances when they see my plate. If I wasn’t in such a rush, I would have stopped to give them a lie explaining why in the world I have so many scones. But that isn’t a priority at the moment.

Once I reach the door to my room, I take a deep breath. I don’t want to be thinking about Agatha Wellbelove. There’s no reason to. The entire situation is out of my control, and brooding about it won’t change anything (clearly I’ve attempted that). So, I open the door. 

Simon Snow is, I swear to god, lying on my bed,  _ snoring _ .

_ I’ve really done it now. _

I go over to him, placing the plate of scones on the nightstand. I want to wallow in it, want to take it in. I know it’s temporary,  _ I know that.  _ But, he’s all I’ve ever wanted. All I never thought I would be allowed to have. I can’t help myself from looking at him be this way. Letting me. Wanting to.

“Snow,” I say in a low voice, nudging his side. He stirs. “Simon,” I murmur. This time, he actually opens his eyes and looks at me. Smiles softly. Tiredly.

“You called me Simon,” he mutters into a pillow. 

I narrow my eyes at him. “I didn’t.”

His grin widens. “Yes,” he says. “Yes, you did.” 

“I brought you scones,  _ Snow, _ ” I retort. At the mention of it, he sits up (of course  _ that’s  _ what catches his attention, of all things). He grabs the plate from the nightstand as soon as he spots it, and begins to devour them.

In between bites, he says, “What took you so long? And why didn’t you bring any food for yourself?” His words are muffled and there are crumbs everywhere (why am I in love with him again?). He tilts his head and looks at me, a curl falling over his eye (right.  _ That’s  _ why.). 

I shift. “Dev and Niall wanted to speak with me, that’s all. And I wasn’t very hungry,” I clear my throat. He puts his plate down and wipes his mouth with his sleeve (wow). 

“Okay, well, I think I’m awake now,” he beams, then leans in and kisses me. His mouth tastes like warm cherries and lemon zest. His hands play with my hair and I can feel him smiling against my lips. I melt. 

Agatha trying to kiss me doesn’t matter, nothing does. Just Simon. Simon, who likes kissing me. Simon, who looks lovely when he’s just woken. Simon, who will be king in a bit more than a month.


	8. eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> under pressure (why can't we give love? give love, give love, give love...)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early chapter because I just really needed to write more this week. I'll be updating on Thursday, too ^-^  
> Thank you to the people that interact (you have them to thank for all of these updates!), please leave comments, kudos, and bookmarks (only if you want ofc)! :) I hope you enjoy! (and yes, the summary is a reference)

**SIMON**

We’re in a storage room, and his lips are everywhere. On my own, on my cheeks, on my neck. I’m laughing and I’m so _fucking_ happy. So unbelievably happy. It’s been like this, ever since I slept in his room that night. Sneaking around, glancing at each other across rooms when no one is looking, snogging behind trees and hedges. It’s making me delirious. 

“Simon,” he mutters in-between kisses. If I wasn’t red in the face before, I certainly am now. 

I press my lips to his, and it feels right. Every time, I’m astounded by it. By how much time we wasted wanting to hate each other when we could have been doing _this._

I hate it out there. When we aren’t behind closed doors and we pretend to continue to loathe each other. It’s what is expected of us, of course, but I _hate_ it. And kissing Agatha is _much_ harder now that I know what it’s like to kiss _Baz._ But, moments like these, when the noise of everyone’s criticism and all of the plans for my future that I had no say in are drowned out, it makes it all worth it, I think.

_Baz,_

_Baz,_

_Baz._

His fingers are tangled in my curls.

Touching him like this feels like a privilege. One maybe I take for granted sometimes. I should have kissed him that night we were in his room and I had felt it in my gut that I _wanted_ to. Then we would have more time. I kiss him harder. He chuckles a little. 

I’d like to think that I’m a straight forward person. I do what it is I feel I want to do, and I always try to say what’s on my mind. But, with Baz, it has never been that simple. Trying to figure him out always ends with me being forced to figure _myself_ out, which I’ve always hated doing. And now that the answer isn’t clear, I have to do that. Get my shite together.

For now, though, I let Baz do what he wants with me, and I let myself get high on the feeling... 

-

I get scared when a servant tells me that my father wants to see me.

I clear my throat. “Now? He- He wants to see me now?” I ask uncomfortably. 

_What the hell could he need me for? He barely talks to me as it is, why start now?_

The servant nods. I swallow. 

_Did he find out about Baz?_ _No, he couldn’t have. Baz was the one that wanted it to be kept as secret as possible. He wouldn’t have told anyone._

Walking through halls and opening doors, I find that my nerves only get worse the closer I get to his office. I rarely talk to my father. He only bothers with me when he needs me for some sort of public event or political gain. When he _does_ talk to me, though, he always asks something of me. 

_“Simon, be nice to the court members, they have power.”_

_“Simon, I need you to make a formal apology to the Pitch family, we have a reputation to maintain.”_

_“Simon, you need to find a bride before your 18th birthday, so I invited a lot of important people your age to stay at the castle for a few months. Be nice.”_

I stop at the entrance to his office and sigh. Whatever it is this time, I’m sure I won’t enjoy it.

I reach for the doorknob and twist it, opening the door and entering the room. My father is sitting on his expensive gold chair, a foot resting on his knee. He seems to be distracted with something he’s writing on paper- perhaps a formal statement or a letter to a court member. I take a deep breath. He glances up and realises I’ve arrived. 

“Simon,” he says, and puts his pen down, leaning back. I swallow again. “I’ve called you in here to ask something very important of you.” _Of course._

I take a seat across from him and begin to fidget with my thumbs. My foot is tapping rapidly under the desk, but I can’t stop once I’ve started. I nod at him to signal that he should continue. 

“We’re nearing your 18th birthday, which means,” he rests his head on his hand, “you should propose soon. I take it you didn’t end up changing your mind about Agatha Wellbelove, yes? You should ask for her hand in marriage by the end of the week. I’ve already discussed this formally with her parents,” he says. I freeze up. I blink.

“Propose? To- To Agatha? This week?” I stammer. He gives me an amused look and rolls his eyes. My palms are starting to sweat. I don’t think I can feel my legs.

“Yes,” he sighs in annoyance. “Unless you’ve found someone more suitable, I expect that you ask her as soon as possible. Obviously, the wedding is already close to fully planned so you need not worry about that. Once you’ve proposed, you’ll be married within the next two to three weeks. I have the ring you’ll use,” he opens one of his drawers and pulls out from within it a small box. He opens it to reveal a ring with a large, intricately cut, diamond. He gives it to me. “It was your mother’s.”

I’m going to pass out. I thought I would have more time. I thought _Baz and I_ would have more time. “Wait, but- Can’t I take a couple more weeks? Just- to make sure it’s the right decision?” I falter. He looks at me and scoffs.

“Don’t tell me you’re doubting yourself now. Last time that I spoke with you, you were certain you would marry Agatha Wellbelove. Has something happened?” he narrows his eyes at me. The last time he saw me was almost two months ago. I feel my cheeks heat up.

“No- no, nothing happened, I just- I want to be sure,” I reply, my heartbeat quickening. 

“Simon, let me be completely transparent. You don’t have much more time left before you have to have chosen a wife, and frankly, I highly doubt that you’ll be able to begin a courtship with any girl with more authority than Ms Wellbelove in the next few weeks. So unless you’ve already found someone else and for some reason just decided not to tell me, you will be proposing marriage to Agatha as soon as possible. Do you understand?” he says sternly.

I want to yell at him but my mouth won’t open and the oxygen entering my lungs isn’t doing its job. I nod silently, looking down, my fists clenched under the table. He glares at me. I muster just enough willpower to look him in the eyes. “Yes, sir,” I mutter. He glowers for a few more seconds before gesturing his head for me to take my leave. I have to force myself not to stomp my feet.

Once I’ve gone back into the hall and I’ve closed the door behind me, I let out a frustrated breath. I look down at the small box enclosed tightly in my right hand. The reality of it all begins to set in. 

I’m getting married to Agatha, whether I like it or not. Before Baz, I didn’t have too much of a problem with any of it. I convinced myself that my father was being fair, he was letting me choose who I wanted to marry. That was enough freedom for me. But now I feel… I feel like I could explode. I feel stuck. Hopeless. 

Almost every aspect of my life has been chosen for me. Who to love, who to hate, who I’ll be. I’ve never had a say in my own destiny (if such a thing really does exist). It was easy for me before. It felt like an advantage, not having to make any real decisions myself- not having to think about the way I felt. It was so easy to not think _at all._ And to feign ignorance when I did.

I want all of it to stop. But I don’t think that’s possible, or could ever be. Because it isn’t just my father who has always restrained me- it’s also the people of the kingdom, the court, the allies, _Agatha,_ even. Everyone expects _something_ of me, expect me to _be_ somebody that’s impossible for me to be. It’s a never-ending cycle of expectations and disappointment that can never be broken.

But, for one reason or another, there are two people who have never made me feel that way.

_I need to talk to Penny._

**PENELOPE**

I’m reading _Hamlet_ when Simon bursts into my room without a warning. I jolt out of my seat by the fire and drop my book on the ground by accident. 

“Penny!” he exclaims. He’s standing there, face red, looking like he’s either about to cry or about to commit a serious crime against humanity. Or both, knowing him.

“Bloody hell, Simon,” I sigh, “You made me lose my page,” I mumble, picking my book off of the floor. He doesn’t stop to apologize- instead closes the door loudly behind him and gets to the chair across from the one I was sitting in faster than I can process. I can never tell with Simon whether these outbursts are about something small (usually concerning Baz), or something _actually_ important. 

I sit back down and glare at him before putting my book down on the small table next to my chair. He seems like he’s never been more eager to say something in his life (which is rare- he doesn’t like using his words as much as most people. Perhaps we’re friends because I’m the opposite).

“This is important,” he says. I would usually raise a brow or give him a half-hearted ‘ _mm-hmm’_ , but a feeling in my gut persuades me not to. He shifts. I purse my lips, then better my posture and nod earnestly. 

“Alright. I’m listening,” I reply, and I make sure to soften my expression in reassurance. His face flushes. I don’t think I’ve ever met anybody in my life that is so easy for me to read. Simon’s like that, I guess. He shows his emotions through his _actions-_ and only uses his words when he knows anything else isn’t enough. This seems like one of those moments.

He clears his throat and looks away (I guess whatever adrenaline he had when he decided to barge into my room left him when he realized he actually had to _talk_ ). I see him gulp. “I don’t- Where do I start? So, well- um. You know how- wait, okay, first of all, I-” he takes a deep breath and knits his brows together in exasperation. 

“Breathe, Simon. Start from the beginning,” I say softly. 

He shuts his eyes tightly. I just- I don’t know when-” he falters. Takes a deep breath. “I’m proposing to Agatha.” His voice cracks a bit and his eyes flutter open once again.

“What? Wait- how? Why? So soon? I thought you still had a few more weeks to decide,” I begin, astonished. I don’t mean to constantly bombard him whenever something happens, but it’s hard not to when Simon’s life keeps becoming more and more baffling. Although the news is not _too_ unexpected, with everything he’s told me as of late, I would have thought that he’d need to talk more about it. And, well, marriage proposals are a big deal, no matter how predictable they may be.

Simon puts his head in his hands and groans. He’s silent for a second. Then, he rubs his eyes. “My father, he- he asked for me to see him today. He said I have to propose to Agatha by the end of the week,” he murmurs. 

_Of course he did. Fucking King David._

I nod. Biting my lip, I hesitate, “Did you consider telling him about… you know? That girl you told me you were in love with?” I ask. 

He looks up at me and purses his lips. “No- I couldn’t have. And I never said that I was _in love_ , Penny,” he huffs. I narrow my eyes at him. “I,” he stops. Averts his eyes. “I think you should know who it is. I think that if I don’t tell _someone_ about it, it’ll- it’ll seize to exist, and, Penny, I can’t-” he inhales sharply, “I can’t let that happen.”

I want to say something ( _‘Jesus Christ, finally.’_ ), but I don’t want to pressure him or pry too much. I’ve been wondering a lot about it lately. Although, of course, I respect his privacy, it’s hard not to be curious. Every time I see a girl, I ask myself if that could be her. Most of the time, though, it doesn’t feel right to me or it doesn’t make much sense considering what Simon said held him back when we last spoke on the subject.

And it’s been making me feel a bit guilty for not telling Simon about who _I_ fancy.

I mentioned it once, quite some time ago, but I didn’t want to bring it up again because I didn’t want to say too much about it if it was just going to be some sort of fling or something of that nature. And though I’m still unsure whether I should say anything at all, it’s been eating away at me every time Simon and I spend time together. 

I don’t think right now would be the best time to bring it up, though.

He takes a deep breath. “God, I don’t know how to say this. We’ve been- it’s been, well, almost two months now,” he says it like it’s a surprise to _himself_ , “since something, err, happened between us,” he clears his throat. I nod along. 

“Yes,” I encourage. 

“But, it wasn’t- I wasn’t too surprised, you know? That my feelings were reciprocated, definitely, but, not- not about me. I don’t actually know how long I felt something, but I don’t _think_ it’s something new. Actually, I should ask if it was new for _them_ , though I don’t think it was based on some things they’ve said, but- um. Sorry, I just-” he’s grabbing at the sides of the chair.

“It’s okay, Simon,” I interrupt. “Take your time.”

He gives me a nod and takes yet another deep breath. “It’s Baz,” he says, and he doesn’t meet my eye.

I wait for a few seconds, waiting to see if he’ll have some sort of punch line. I wait for a while. Every bit of his skin that I can see it resembles the colour of a ripe tomato. I furrow my eyebrows together.

“It’s… Baz?” I repeat, thinking perhaps I heard the wrong name. 

He nods solemnly. I swallow. 

_Simon fancies Baz._

I give myself a moment to think about it.

_He said it’s almost been two months._

Simon, trying to get Baz to agree to a truce. Opening Baz’ door and seeing them close together, sitting on the ground. Simon following Baz out of the courtyard. Baz leaving through the same hallway as the one where Simon was hiding in a storage closet. Simon and Baz missing breakfast on the same day. Simon trying to sit with Baz. Them going missing at the same time at events-

_God, why didn’t I think of that before? I’m such a numpty. It was all right before my eyes._

I blink a few times. After a long pause, I break the silence.

“That... makes sense,” I say, an amused tone in my voice. Simon’s gaze immediately fixes itself on me. I’m more bewildered in how I wasn’t able to figure them out than the situation itself. 

“It does?” 

I nod my head, thinking about it more. “Well, yeah. You’ve always been obsessed with Baz, for as long as I can remember. And Baz, well… the way he looks at you… it all adds up,” I continue. He looks at me with a stunned expression clearly playing out on his face.

“Adds up? Penny, you- I- wait,” he holds the bridge of his nose. “I’m not going to ask what you mean by that,” he stops. Then, his look becomes pained. “Now you know why Agatha is my only option,” he whispers, looking down. He looks dejected.

I offer a frown of sympathy.

As much as I want to tell him to follow what his heart wants (as undeniably cheesy as that sounds), I don’t want to give him false hope. If maybe he were a different person- if he didn’t have so much power and he wasn’t expected to be a certain way- he and Baz would have a chance. But, I don’t know what I could tell him that wouldn’t break his heart. 

He’s a _prince_ , and while at the moment all that is is a ceremonial role, soon it very well won’t be. And either way, he’s an _image._ He’s what represents the future of his kingdom, the very being of it. And although there are protests on the streets and progress being made, those who have power over him will be horrified at the very idea of giving Simon and Baz a chance.

After a while, I think I see a few tears streak down his cheeks. I go over and hug him. I know he wanted me to fix it. To give him a solution. But, no one has all the answers. _Why do these people get better opportunities than those? Why can’t two people love each other with no one hurt? Why must hate and fear come with being different from one another?_

I say that I know everything. But, something I don’t know, is how to fix a world that has always been broken.


	9. nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the late 1700s. a large amount of people would marry within weeks of having met each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here's the second update of the week! I've had so much motivation to write lately and it makes me so glad. Every time somebody comments on this work I get so excited to write more to see what you guys have to say :D As always, I hope you enjoy! (Also- I have a four day weekend coming up so maybe I'll do another double update- we'll see!)  
> P.S. had to repost this a few times because of formatting issues aha

**AGATHA**

I’ve never known myself, I don’t think.

Sometimes I think I like something (or  _ someone _ ), but then once I give myself the proper time to think about it more, I realise maybe I didn’t like that thing as much as I thought I did. And then the things I  _ do  _ want- or at least the things I  _ like _ \- well. It doesn’t usually work out very well for me.

And God, there are so many things I despise that most would relish in. My power, my money, everything. But, I didn’t sign up for it. None of it. 

I don’t know what to think about what Baz told me.

He didn’t necessarily say it had anything to do with  _ me _ , the reason why he wouldn’t kiss me. He didn’t say  _ I  _ was the problem- he didn’t even tell me whether he felt anything at all towards me. The entire thing went by so fast, I barely had a moment to process any of it. 

But, it stung a bit. What I  _ did  _ manage to understand. 

I don’t know what it is I wanted from that. Choice, maybe? To know that I  _ could _ pick Baz? Or maybe I was trying to be rebellious. Start a fling with Simon’s enemy- make him see that  _ I  _ have options, too. That this marriage will be a two-way street. There have been rumours going around lately (I entertain myself with overhearing gossip at events- it’s actually quite interesting), that the King returned to the kingdom to speak with Simon, and everybody is betting the reason why. 

He’s going to propose soon. I know it. I can’t think of what else could be so urgent that the King wouldn’t just send a letter. 

I haven’t decided yet if I’ll accept it. I know that if these were normal circumstances- just a girl with no real responsibilities, getting proposed to, I would certainly decline. But, nothing has ever been ‘normal circumstances’, and especially not when it comes to Simon. 

I don’t think he loves me. I think that he  _ wants  _ to. I think we both wish that we could marry each other and be in love, but we both know that wouldn’t be true. I could learn to love Simon one day if I tried hard enough. Or we could end up seeing our marriage as just a legal contract of sorts- a union of two kingdoms. I frown.

When I was younger, and being a princess felt like a blessing- when I thought I was the luckiest girl in the entire world- I would fantasise about what it would be like to have a happy ending. To achieve what all of those fairytale princesses achieved. I thought it would all just come together at some point. It never did.

Now, I just want to stop thinking about the future. I want to have no expectations, no boundaries or limits. I want the ability to be alive  _ now,  _ and be content with that. 

Simon is always thinking about the future. Telling me what he’ll do when he’s crowned- the changes he’ll make, the reforms. It’s hard not to tune him out sometimes. I know all of it is important,  _ I do _ , but for once I’d like to just be excited for what is happening in my life now, and not what will happen in the next few years.

I’ve used this opportunity to make new friends my age, and  _ that’s  _ what has kept me happy.

Today, I’m going to confront Baz. Be completely, utterly, transparent with him. I don’t want to throw my life away- I don’t want to give up on what could potentially make me happier when it’s my entire future that will be impacted. And I want to be mature about it, too. If things don’t work out, I’ll know, at least. That marrying Simon will be the best option. 

I spot Baz across the large hall. There’s a party today (by that I mean just a bunch of teenagers with ridiculous outfits in a large room and some live music) (I don’t hate it- but Minty and Ginger are flirting with random boys and so I’m a bit lonely). 

He looks handsome- he’s the only one here, I think, that can really pull off a unique outfit without looking silly. For all the time that I’ve known him (or at least, been close enough to observe him), he’s always had this  _ look.  _ Mysterious. Spiteful. Sad. And he doesn’t let people in, not from what I can tell. I know several girls who would love nothing more than a single dance from him- a glance their way, even. And yet, he has only two friends, one being his cousin, and has never been seen courting a woman. 

_ Mysterious. Spiteful. _

_ Sad.  _

__ I wasn’t old enough to remember when his mum died, but I know it was gruesome.  _ Burned alive,  _ I thought. Someone had set fire to the nursery during the night. Help came too late. Queen Natasha traded her life for her child’s. They still don’t know who could have done such a thing, but it wasn’t entirely surprising. With so much authority and power comes those who want to oppose you- who want to hurt you. They stopped trying to find the culprit years ago.

I’ve never been close to Baz in any way- growing up, I would see him at events and such, but we were only acquainted when I turned 16 and my mother invited him to the celebration. I had heard of him countless times from Simon- how cruel and ‘evil’ he was, and while I didn’t completely disagree (I’d seen him rile Simon up a few times), I didn’t think he was as bad as Simon always told me he was.

So, every time I do have the chance to see him, I can’t stop myself from trying to figure him out. If that’s even possible to do. 

I take my time getting over to him, making it look like it isn’t too purposeful. He’s talking to his mates, Dev and Niall, when I intervene. 

“Baz,” I say, my voice slightly stern. He stops, turning to properly face me. Dev and Niall look at me with intrigued looks before snickering and distancing themselves from us. Baz raises an eyebrow. “I’d like to speak with you. In private.”

He narrows his eyes. “What exactly would we be discussing?” 

“It’s important. Follow me.” I clear my throat. I go and weave through the crowds, only hoping that he’s close behind. I lead him to the exit, where I know there should be a long, empty hallway for us to talk privately. I open the heavy door and see that he did, in fact, follow me, and is now walking in front of me to exit the room. When I close the door behind us, the noise of gossip and conversation is silenced. 

I was right. We’re alone here. He’s still giving me a suspicious look. 

I sigh. “Look, I think we both know that sooner or later, Simon will ask for my hand in marriage,” I start.

**BAZ**

_ Ouch. _

**AGATHA**

He shifts, and swallows, uncomfortable. I raise my eyebrows. “And I’m sure you know what answer is expected of me, yes? Well, I don’t… I don’t want to cross out any other options I may have just because of what I’m  _ supposed  _ to say. I don’t want to accept just out of obligation,” I explain. 

Surprisingly enough, he actually nods at me, although his expression still holds some malice. I continue. “I tried to kiss you,” I clear my throat awkwardly, “and you told me that the reason you couldn’t was that I was going to marry Simon, right?” He nods again, though now his eyebrows are knitting together at the bridge of his nose. “If that’s all that is holding you back, and you  _ are _ interested in me, then, um,” I’m blushing now, “I’d like for you to consider proposing to me as well.”

**BAZ**

_ Bloody hell. _

_ This cannot be happening. _

__ I think that a part of me wants to say yes. To ask Wellbelove to marry me, just to see Simon’s reaction. To steal his chance at marrying a girl. But, I can’t do that. Not to Snow and definitely not to Wellbelove. 

I told Simon he should marry her, so why should I continue to try and stop it from happening? I’ve continued to insist, over and over again, that he should go with the smartest and safest route- marry the girl. Learn to love her. 

My heart twists in knots. 

He could do it.  _ They  _ could do it. Be happy. Without me. 

And Agatha, well. I’ve already taken too much, haven’t I? If I just hadn’t indulged Simon, maybe they wouldn’t be doubting their marriage. She would know that marrying him is the  _ right choice _ . I fucked all of it up for her. For  _ both of them _ .

I know Simon still feels something for her. He  _ must _ . It’s either that, or he will.

I stop pretending for a second, stop being angry at her. I give her a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry, Agatha. I’m in love with somebody else,” I whisper. She exhales, Puts her head in her hands for a moment. 

I know I lead her on. Now, it seems foolish that I would do such a thing when I know the only real outcome of all of this is Simon and Agatha. Together. There has never been any use in trying to deny it. All I did was harm them, and myself. She takes a deep breath and looks at me again. “Thank you. For being honest, at least. About how you feel. Someone has to, right?” she gives me a slightly pained chuckle.

I don’t think she really would have wanted to be with me. She doesn’t know me. How much anger I have sometimes. How sad I am. How little I care.

I spend the rest of the night back in the crowd, talking to Wellbelove. I don’t want to hate her. She doesn’t deserve that. The only person who deserves my hate is King David, and she certainly isn’t him. 

I find out that she really enjoys sports and games- and she likes horses and the outdoors. At one point, two other girls come over to talk to her and I have a nice conversation with the three of them. I go back to being sarcastic and snarky, but I try this time not to be too much of a prick. 

Eventually, I do go back to Dev and Niall (they ask a lot of questions- I answer approximately none of them). The night ends and I go back to my room, knowing Simon will not take too long to get there, too. 

-

“Hey, did you like the party? I saw you talking to Agatha,” he’s grinning a little, closing the door behind him, already taking off his shoes. He’s here more often than his own room- I’ve even had a spare key made (“I lost my room key.Can you request another one?”) just for him, so that he can get in at night when I lock the door. I’ve grown too accustomed to sharing the bed with him. I stopped thinking of it as  _ my  _ room. In a way, it’s  _ ours. _

But, today, I know that we can’t tumble around and pretend to be happy lovers. I can feel it. The way he would look at me at the party, like he was waiting for the right moment to steal me away and tell me something important. Then Wellbelove beat him to it.

“Snow,” I start. He’s taking off more and more of his clothes (“What? It gets so hot, I can’t just wear that many layers all the time. What are they for anyway?”) and is sitting at the edge of the bed. He looks up at me and shifts. I can tell there’s something wrong. I sit beside him. “You know that I’ll probably never get married, right?” I whisper, although I’m not facing him. I’m looking down at the ground and I hear him inhale.

“Why not?” he mutters back. I take off my shoes and my stockings. He puts his foot over mine.

I scoff quietly, like someone will hear us. “I won’t do it. I could never bring myself to. I’ve always said that I would, at least to you and my family. That I would marry a woman, fully aware that the marriage would be loveless. But, the truth is that I’ve never really thought that I could. I think,” I take a sharp breath, “that I’ll die that way. Unmarried. Lonely, like I’ve always been.”

_ I don’t know what will kill me first, Simon. You or me? _

__ I’ve been happy, recently. With Simon. So, so happy. I didn’t think it was possible. 

But, I never let myself feel that way for too long. I  _ want  _ to pretend with him, I really do. Go places together, share a room, tell my family, I want to have all of it. 

A lot of people get married quickly after they meet- some a couple of months, quite a large amount just two weeks. That’s just how it is nowadays. Because love is so rare, people swear that they’re sure when they’ve found it. I’ve been sure about Simon for almost 8 years now, and I’ll never get to marry him. 

“Baz, don’t- don’t think like that,” he mumbles, moving closer to my side. His foot wiggles around, and I almost laugh at how much I love him.

“You know that it’s true, Snow,” I whisper back. He doesn’t reply. There’s a moment of silence where I just feel him next to me. His touch. His happiness. His sadness. And none of it is spoken. But, it’s there. 

Simon never knew his mother. He doesn’t even know what she looked like. King David had all of the pictures of her they ever had get hidden, burned, or destroyed, in his grief. I wish I could bring Simon’s mum back, too. I don’t like thinking that he experiences something even close to what I do with my own mum. He doesn’t deserve that. The feeling of loss, of rage at the world.

It’s quiet, but I don’t hate the quiet.

Simon looks at me, and he looks defeated.

“I’m proposing to Agatha tomorrow,” he says. I inhale.

“Tomorrow?” I mutter. He hugs my side, latching on to me like he knows I would run off. I won’t, though. Not enough energy.

He nods into my shoulder. My back slumps. “My dad… he came to tell me to, and he wouldn’t let me have more time,” he hugs me tighter. I close my eyes.

I turn the thought over in my brain. Simon, at the altar, looking handsome as ever. Wellbelove, coming down the aisle, large, a white dress and long, flowing veil dragging on the ground. Everybody standing up. I’m sitting in the second row with my Aunt Fiona sitting beside me.

I squeeze my eyes and stop breathing. It’s really happening. I fucking hate everything.

I exhale.

I turn my head and kiss the top of his head. I’ve never done that before. 

“Okay,” is all I say. I can’t think of anything better. 

**SIMON**

I press my lips to his jaw. 

Last night, after I told Penny everything, I came back here, to this room, like I have been. Baz didn’t notice when I hid the ring box in the closet (almost all of my clothes are here now, just from how many times I leave them here. Baz moved his coats over so I could hang mine. I kissed him senseless when I caught him folding my trousers and putting them next to his). I slept next to him, and he kissed me in the morning when I woke. 

Last night, I admitted to myself that I was in love with Baz Pitch. And that that was okay. And it made me happy.

Baz was asleep, and I whispered into the dark, holding him tight,

_ I love you, _

_ I love you, _

_ I love you _

It surprised me a little at first, how I was able to recognise that feeling and  _ know  _ that I was in love with him. But, it also surprised me that I hadn’t started falling in love with Baz when I kissed him at the waterfall, or the first time I slept over. 

It was when he was 15, and would read by the river, and I would see him and feel like I would never meet anyone as beautiful as him. When we were 12, and we raced each other across fields of grass and flowers, and sometimes we would get a bit bored and he would let me win, but he wouldn’t admit it. He’d just sneer at me and I would grin. Him, age 16, looking broken, sitting on the floor in a corner of a room. I found him, and I saw how sad he was. I don’t think he noticed me that day, watching from behind a wall, wishing I hadn’t spoken so aggressively that day. Then pretending I’d never seen anything the day after.

I grew up with Baz always there, always a constant, always a comfort. Even when I thought I hated him, I think I loved him. Somewhere along the way, it happened. 

And I’m proposing to Agatha tomorrow. 


	10. ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has been a rough week for me, so sorry if this chapter is uploaded a bit later than usual. as usual, I hope you enjoy !

**BAZ**

Although I am awake, I don’t open my eyes. I don’t want to accept that time has run out.

But I still feel him next to me, his legs tangled in mine, the steady beat of his heart and the soft sounds of his quiet breaths. 

I’ve done this- woken up next to Snow- many times before, now. But, today is different. After today is through,  _ he _ will be different.

After Simon proposes to Agatha (and I assume that after our conversation last night, Agatha will most likely accept the offer), they will be very busy for a few days, from the first hours of the day until the last moments of the night. Which means Simon will stay in his room, and I will stay in mine, as he will be requested directly from his chambers every morning. It probably should have always been that way.

Things won’t be the same, after. I’m not entirely sure he’ll still want whatever  _ this  _ is after he’s spent so many days getting prepared to live a life with someone else. After that, there will only be a couple of weeks before the wedding.

And then… well, then  _ we disappear.  _ It’ll be as if nothing ever happened between us. As if the many years I spent loving him ceased to exist. 

I think I’ll stop when he gets married. I won’t ruin that for him or Agatha. They both deserve a marriage where they are both faithful to one another. In fact, I’ll stop contacting him altogether. I’ll send someone else to go to court meetings in my place and I will only write to him if it's an urgent matter concerning formal topics. I’ll go to the wedding, and then it’s over. Forever.

Snow breathes in, and I flinch. Then, his eyes flutter open and he looks at me with tired eyes and a peck on the cheek. I don’t know how I’ll survive today.

**SIMON**

I don’t want to tell him that I love him yet. With everything that’s going on, I don’t think it’s the right time to do that. But, I have to tell him before the wedding. Or else I might never get the chance at all. 

He  _ has _ to know. I couldn’t live with myself if he never knew exactly how I felt about him. 

There’s no more avoiding what is going to happen anymore- no more pushing thoughts away or pretending everything is fine. I won’t see Baz for a week after today, since I’ll be completely occupied with wedding planning, and I want to make sure that I spend this morning relishing in him.

Memorizing the feel of his skin, the waves of his hair. Making sure that none of it ever goes away. I want to capture this moment, want to hold on tightly to it- as if letting go would destroy me. I can’t let any of this be forgotten.

“Baz,” I say softly. He breathes in and avoids my gaze, then sits up. I follow suit. He won’t look at me. “Baz,” I repeat, a bit more insistent. “I want… I don’t want to waste this morning… I just want to spend it with you, please. Not fighting or sulking. Before…” I don’t say it. He flinches anyway.

“Okay. I won’t sulk,” he faces me, “I’ll do whatever you want, Simon,” he says. I grin.

I practically pounce on him, putting my arms around his neck and kissing him hard. He kisses back with the same force. It makes me feel a bit of the happiness I had when I knew I’d fallen in love with him. It gives me hope. That something will keep this from ending. 

His fingers are cold on the nape of my neck, and all of it feels a bit different than before. Kissing him, being aware that I love him. There isn’t too much of a change (the feeling has been there all along- but the difference in  _ letting _ myself recognise it for what it is is hard to ignore). I stop kissing his mouth and decide to take into account his request. Do  _ whatever I want. _

__ I begin to kiss his neck (I like it when he does that to me, so I’d like to return the favour), and he groans a bit. I smile against his skin. The tosser is wearing the shirt he wore to the party last night (I know I hit him with a lot yesterday, but damn) (if I weren’t so busy being absolutely in love with him, I’d never let him live it down). I let my hands wander to the bottom, and slide my hands underneath. 

They stay that way for a while- I kiss his jaw and the place behind his ear. Then, I start to pull his shirt off, to which he responds to by pressing his lips to mine and bringing it up and off his body. My grin widens. He helps me take my nightshirt off.

I suddenly have so much energy- so much adrenaline. 

Baz is  _ fit. _

__ Of course, I’d seen Baz shirtless before, while he was changing into clothing or during a particularly heated moment, but it was always rushed, always quick. We’d never been intimate with each other- although of course, everything about our relationship was against the rules and untraditional, I had tried to save at least that part of it- no sex before marriage. Not only because I felt like that somehow made everything we had less  _ forbidden,  _ but also because it gave me the chance to pretend that we had the  _ choice _ to marry.

He kisses my collarbone.

There’s no possibility of that- I see that now, more than ever. There’s no use anymore, now that time has run out for us. No use in pretending like it really matters at all what we do. Everything that happens in this room, between the two of us, is only for ourselves.

And if there’s anything I’d want to do before it’s official- before I’m an engaged man, to be wed to another in a matter of weeks, it’s this. Using every last second there is left to give Baz everything I have, and not regretting any of it. 

And I don’t. If I could go back in time, to when I thought loving Baz wasn’t allowed, I would do it all over again. All of it. Every word that I spoke, every thought and every touch. Over and over again.

-

Before I leave the room, Baz kisses the palms of my hands and we say goodbye to each other as if we’ll never see each other again.

And maybe we won’t. Or at least not in the same way. We’ll be different the next time we see each other.  _ Changed.  _ So, I press our lips together one last time, and make a note in my brain of how happy it makes me. Then, I leave. 

It’s probably around 10 in the morning. When I shut the door behind me, I close my eyes for a moment and take a deep breath. I haven’t truly left Baz’ room yet, not mentally. I’m smiling a bit and I know my face is probably bright red. I feel like I could begin floating. Or like I could just go back in the room and tell him how I feel. How much he means to me. I tried to make my hair look a bit more presentable, but I highly doubt combing through it a few times did anything to the mess Baz left my curls in. I hope it isn’t too noticeable.

I want to hold on to the feeling in my stomach, the warmth that comes with loving Baz Pitch. But, I shouldn’t. Not when that love should be for somebody else, or no one at all. I try nonetheless.

I look for Agatha everywhere, strolling through the castle, my hands fidgeting behind my back. It’s hard to keep Baz off my mind (more than usual), and my mind wanders as I go searching for her. 

It was hard, not telling him. Ever since I figured it out, I’ve been suppressing the words at every turn. I have this urge to tell everyone in sight, to shout it from the tallest tower of the castle. 

_ I love Baz Pitch with every fibre of my being, and there’s nothing any of you can do to stop me. _

__ I have to keep reminding myself that that would ruin everything- that I  _ can’t  _ do that and that they  _ can  _ stop me. Or at least my father can.

As soon as I become king, I’ll make it all legal. Marriage, protection, everything. I won’t be able to divorce Agatha, but I can’t let any more people feel this way. To feel so hopeless and like you will never be able to reach the same happiness as everyone else.

I hope that I’ll be able to learn to love Agatha. I like girls, too, I think. I’m not entirely sure what that means considering I’m also in love with a boy, but I don’t think it’ll ever matter enough to think about. For now, I’ll just let it be what it is. 

So, I think maybe one day I’ll love her. Or I’ll try to, at least. I don’t know how I’ll be able to do that when I feel so deeply for another, but I’ll have to let go.

_ I don’t want to let go. _

__ It would be better for everyone involved for me to forget about Baz after I’m married to Agatha, but I don’t think I will ever be capable of doing something like that. 

I find Agatha in the gardens by a shrub of roses. She looks nice, wearing a flowing blue dress with little flower prints on it, sitting on the grass, a book in her hands. I don’t want to disturb her (she looks very focused on whatever it is she’s reading), but I fear that if I doubt myself now, if I try to back away, I’ll only end up procrastinating on it more.

_ The sooner I propose, the sooner all of the wedding planning I have to be a part of will end.  _

I asked Baz if he could return some of my clothing to my room while I was gone, and he agreed, though hesitantly. I didn’t want to do it myself. It would be too much. I’ll probably only see small glances of Baz for the next week, from far away, for only a few seconds. I already miss him.

I walk towards Agatha, holding my breath. She hears the sounds of the grass beneath my feet and looks up at me. I exhale.

“Agatha? Can I have a moment with you?” I ask. She knits her brows together and stands, closing her book after putting a mark on her page. 

“Sure,” she replies warily. We begin to walk side by side through the different paths of shrubs and bushes, the sun shining bright above us. I try to give her my most convincing smile.

“You know how much you mean to me, Ags,” I start. That’s not a lie. I’ve known her for a long time now. Before we were what we are now, before we got into this mess of a situation, we were pretty good friends. I wish we could go back to that. When there was no pressure to make life-changing choices all the time. 

She nods.

“And I- I have a really important, err- I wanted to ask you something. It’s very important,” I clear my throat. She stops and I inhale, turning to face her. She probably knows exactly what this is about.

**AGATHA**

I know exactly what this is about.

**SIMON**

She is already giving me a sad smile, and I haven’t even proposed yet.

I’m about 90% sure that she has at least an idea of what is really happening. I don’t think she knows that I’m in love with someone else, much less who exactly it is that I’m in love with, but she knows it isn’t her. But, I think it’s also a sort of unspoken agreement that it doesn’t matter. 

I sigh and kneel down, keeping up the corners of my mouth like my life depends on it. I reach into my coat pocket, where the small box my father gave me is. I take it out and open it to reveal the ring inside. Agatha’s expression doesn’t change. It takes everything in me to start talking. “Will you marry me, Ags?” I ask. I think I stop breathing.

She stares at the ring for a few seconds. Then, she nods. “Of course,” she says, taking the box from my hand. I get a bit nauseous when I hear her response. I stand up again. Taking the ring out of the box in her hands, I help her get it on her finger. She admires the diamond and looks at me with a small smile. “It’s pretty,” she comments.

I want to run away from this. 

Take Baz and me far, far away from here, and never look back. 

-

**BAZ**

As expected, Simon doesn’t come back to my room that night. I knew he wouldn’t. And yet a part of me waited for him. Watched the door every chance I got. 

I wonder if he ever invited Agatha to  _ his  _ room. Or shared similar moments with her as we had this morning. If he’d ever woken up and looked at  _ her _ in the way I look at  _ him. _

My heart aches. I wouldn’t have the right to be mad at him if he did. 

I know that by now it’s been many hours since Snow became engaged to Agatha, but I’ve been occupying myself all day to distract myself from the thought. Participating in hangouts, talking to Dev and Niall at lunch (that I did not see Snow at)- talking to just about every woman here. Flirting with them, just because I wanted to feel something. Feel like maybe Snow was watching, from the other side of the room, sulking in his own jealousy, like he always has. 

But now there’s only me, and every thought that I suppressed throughout the day. In the dark, sitting on the bed I’ve grown accustomed to sharing. It’s never been this quiet before. Or this lonely.

I’ve felt something similar to this before. That overwhelming feeling of being aware that you’re  _ alone.  _ At least before, I didn’t know what I was missing. 

The wardrobe feels empty now, without Snow’s clothing to take up so much space. I haven’t moved my things to fill it out, so only the left half of it has anything stored in it. I don’t want to do anything about it.

Maybe the room will finally be clean.

I try reading a book before going to bed, to keep my thoughts preoccupied, but the sound of absolutely nothing won’t let me focus on any words on the pages. I throw the book across the room and don’t bother getting up to pick it up.

I end up just lying there, staring at the ceiling, wondering how I got in this kind of situation.

Anywhere along the way, I could have found someone else to be absolutely, irreversibly in love with- and yet, here I am, longing to touch the skin of an engaged prince, who will soon be king.

Surely I could have done something differently. Refused to go with my father to this bloody castle. Stopped myself from opening my stupid mouth whenever I was around him. I should have never let myself get this far. 

_ But, I love him too much.  _

__ It takes me a long time to fall asleep. I usually don’t toss and turn this much, but it felt impossible to get comfortable enough to do so.

_ Pathetic. _

__ I need to detach myself from this. I can’t even spend one night without him.

_ Sad. _

__ When he gets married, he’ll share not just his chambers with Agatha, but his entire castle. They’ll wake up together, share every meal, go to every court meeting. And then, they’ll go back to  _ their  _ room and, well. 

I don’t want to think about that part. 

I dream about us that night. Simon and I, in suits, at the end of a long aisle. Smiling. Giving each other rings. Becoming one.

I would propose to Simon  _ tomorrow  _ if I was allowed to. If I knew for sure that he would accept. 

I don’t know if he would. He doesn’t have to want to, though. I don’t need for him to love me back to love him. As long as he wants what I have to give, that’s enough for me. We could never get married (we will never get married), never share a room again or be able to see each other without having to pretend to hate each other, and I would still love him. 

But, it’s a nice thought nonetheless.


	11. eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon gets his stubborness from Penny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. My mental health is currently in the worst shape it has ever been, so please be patient with me if for some reason I don't post next week or I post later than usual. Writing was a bit therapeutic, and I hope I'll be able to continue doing weekly updates, but as of now it's a little uncertain. As always, I really hope that you enjoy the chapter :)

**BAZ**

“Did you hear that the Prince finally proposed?”

“Really? Oh my god.”

“Aw, I thought maybe I still had a chance…”

“This late? Phillipa, come on.”

I didn’t want to leave my room at all today, but Dev and Niall practically dragged me to the courtyard this morning, and I didn’t have enough energy in me to stop them.

I barely slept at all last night, and not for lack of trying. I lied there, for what seemed like decades, in the dark, my mind racing. It was quiet. I couldn’t hear anything but my own thoughts- but those were loud enough to keep me awake until the morning. 

The thought of eating anything at all right now makes me feel absolutely nauseous. I feel like I could pass out at any moment.

I’ve been trying my best to look like I have my shit together- to look like I know nothing and I am unphased. I wish I was. I think it would have perhaps been better (for my health, and my sleep schedule), even Simon hadn’t told me that he was going to propose to her. 

“Baz,” Dev’s voice cuts through my internal turmoil. I look up at him, a bored look on my face (I’ve always been good at acting like I could care less about anything) (thank god for that). “Did you hear the news that’s been going around? Simon asked for Agatha’s hand in marriage. And she  _ actually _ said yes!” I raise a brow, then scoff.

“For a moment I doubted that he had the balls to do it,” Niall comments from beside him. I agree.

“Yes, I’ve heard. It seems it’s the only thing people can talk about here. Tell me something I’d actually care about, would you?” I yawn. I try to make it seem like it’s because I’m unamused instead of being obviously sleep deprived. Dev rolls his eyes at me.

“Come on, Baz, Niall and I both know you give two shits about this. We know you hate him but you’ll come to the wedding, right?” he asks. I sneer at him.

“Of course I will. It’s perhaps the greatest opportunity I’ve ever had at making a fool of him. But, for now, I see no use in talking about it. It’s ridiculous to even mention it and indulge these gossipers. They haven’t even sent out any invitations yet,” I retort. I really can’t deal with all of this right now. I just want to go back to my room and wallow in my self-pity. Or take a long nap. Either option seems fine to me.

And I know that the invitations will be sent out at the end of the week. I know the gossip is completely true and there’s nothing I can do or say to ignore it. But I can try my best.

I roll my eyes and start to get up.

“Hey, wait- Baz!”

Penelope Bunce is making her way over to me. Dev and Niall both give me sceptical looks. I narrow my eyes at her. She’s almost jogging over to me from where she had been sitting with a guy (the same guy I saw her with that one time- hm) on the other side of the courtyard (had she been watching me to make sure she caught me before I left? This explains a lot about Snow).

I cross my arms. “What the hell do you want, Bunce? Whatever it is, I’m sure it can wait. I was just leaving-”

“I need to talk to you. And if you thought Simon was stubborn about getting a word in with you, you won’t want to see  _ me  _ when I need to have a conversation with someone. Come on, we can talk in my room,” she’s already reaching out for my wrist (surely she thinks she can just drag me out of here like Simon did a few months ago. However, that is a privilege reserved for only one person, and it isn’t her). I move my hand out of her reach before she does anything.

“Jesus Christ, Bunce. Fine. Lead the way,” I say, annoyed.

She tries to reach for my wrist again, but I move away, glaring at her. She rolls her eyes and begins walking towards wherever the hell her room is.

I didn’t want to do this today. I just wanted to waste all of my hours reading books or practising on my violin.  _ Alone.  _ But, of course, Penelope Bunce won’t let that happen. She’s probably going to accuse me of plotting something or other, and I honestly will not be able to take that. I want to yell and scream at her (I won’t, though, Snow would get mad at me for going off on her while he’s gone) (I’m still extremely tempted). 

Her room is actually on the other side of the castle from where Snow’s room is (I wonder if they’ve tried to get that to change before) (probably Bunce and her family were all assigned specific rooms, though, since they’re part of the court- and I doubt that King David would let her change rooms just to cause trouble with Snow). 

I bet Snow loved that Bunce lived in the castle with him. That must have been a lot of fun for him, especially when they were younger. Like a built-in friend.

The Manor is lonely. We moved in a couple of months after my mum was killed (I know it was arson. I know it.), and for a few years, it was only my dad and I who lived there. I used to be so angry. Or at least, angrier than I am now. It was hard sharing so much space with a small number of people. Sometimes I would go days without seeing my father.

When David was crowned King, he took a large amount of our money (though we still are wealthy, we were left with about a third of what we had before), and none of the servants or care-takers were allowed to come with us except for one (Vera, bless her soul). It was hard. But it was harder when my father remarried. 

I love Daphne, of course. But, not then. Not when I was still holding on to the memories of my mother for dear life and having an identity crisis at the same time. I felt like letting Daphne into my life meant betraying my mother. Of course, that isn’t true. And then she got pregnant. That was hard- until suddenly the manor was full of children and laughter- and then it wasn’t as hard anymore.

Dev lived nearby and my father wanted me to talk to him, so I did, and we became friendly. He introduced me to Niall, and that was it. 

But, we’ve never been very close. Not like Snow is with Bunce (nothing even  _ close _ to that). We have an unspoken agreement- we only speak of surface-level things, we don’t get too involved in each other’s lives.

I’m glad at least Snow had someone to talk to all of these years.

“Here we are,” she says, once we’ve reached a large wooden door. She opens it to reveal a room that resembles exactly how I imagined her room to look like. There are stacks of books on the floor and on shelves and bedside tables. The walls are a light purple (I don’t remember any  _ purple  _ rooms in the castle from when I lived here. She must have had them painted at some point), and she has maps framed on her walls with the names of kingdoms I know written on them.

It’s very  _ fitting.  _

I enter, wary. I have to watch my step (if someone stepped on  _ my  _ books, I would set them on fire).

I cross my arms and raise an eyebrow at her. “Alright then, Bunce. What is so bloody important?” I scowl. She narrows her eyes at me.

“I know, Baz,” she says. I feel myself begin to panic, but make sure to keep my composed look.

I look at her, unimpressed. “Wow, Bunce. I genuinely thought that you were above Snow’s dramatic antics. Whatever crazy story he made you believe, it’s bollocks. You don’t know shit, and I’m leaving,” I reply cooly, ready to make my exit.

“You can stop pretending Baz. Simon told me that you’re in love.” I stop.

“Whatever gossiper told you that is clearly mad, and just wants attention,” I retort. She rolls her eyes for the millionth time.

“No, bloody hell.  _ Simon  _ told me. A couple of days ago. And you can’t try to convince me that everything he said wasn’t real. Baz,” she comes forward a bit, I take a step back and glare at her. “It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone that you’re-”

“What did he say?” I fume. It can’t be true. We agreed that we wouldn’t tell anyone.  _ I  _ never agreed to tell anyone. This is it. First, it’s Bunce. Then, who knows. I shouldn’t have risked so much. I knew what would happen if it got out, and now here we are. The first step to our secret being uncovered. Someday it will reach my father, and it’ll be over for me. 

She purses her lips, then walks over to a bench at the end of her bed and sits, motioning for me to join her. Reluctantly, I do, though I maintain the grimace on my face.

“Well, he told me a while ago that he was… I don’t know… in a romantic relationship, I guess… with someone other than Agatha but, he didn’t specify who it was,” she starts. I frown.

_ And when was he planning to tell me about any of this? Jesus Christ. _

__ “And then, a couple of days ago, I guess King David told him to propose to Agatha and he... well, he freaked out, and he said that he couldn’t bear it if no one ever knew about the two of you,” she says. I clench my fists. 

I don’t know how to feel. I know how Snow must have felt, keeping all of it from Bunce, but he could have at least talked about it with me before telling her anything. Did he even think the consequences that might come with someone other than ourselves knowing everything might be? How it could ruin everything, not just for him, but for me also?

_ Why didn’t you say something, Simon? _

__ I wish I could just storm out and get him, to bring him to my room and ask him why he didn’t tell me first. Yell at him, maybe. Just to get some emotions out.

I grit my teeth. “We aren’t in love, you know. He isn’t… It isn’t like that. And if you tell anyone about any of this, I’ll make sure you regret it,” I mutter. She scoffs.

“I’m not scared of you, Baz. And I know Simon better than anyone. And, as crazy as it may sound, I know you pretty well, too. One of the perks of having to hear Simon’s rants all day since I was a kid. You love each other,” she says as if it’s the most logical thing to say. 

“You don’t know anything about this, Bunce, no matter what Snow may have told you. And, frankly, I don’t see how any of it concerns you,” I growl. Who does she think she is? The audacity this girl has is unbelievable.

Now she looks angry, too. “Look, I know we definitely haven’t gotten along in the past, but listen to me. Simon is my best friend, and so the way  _ you _ treat him and how  _ you _ feel about him does concern me. And please, just stop with your bullshit, it’s insulting,” she says. 

Snow’s bloody lucky to have someone like her. 

I tense, then sigh. I’m much too tired for this.

“He doesn’t… he doesn’t feel that way, Bunce. No matter how I feel for him, he doesn’t want…  _ all of that _ , he’s… I’ve already accepted it. Don’t try to make me feel like there’s a chance he might return the sentiment.  _ That  _ would be crossing the line,” I murmur. I don’t even know why I say it, but I think I’ve had enough of pretending for one day. It’s a relief, almost, to say it out loud, even if it’s just an implication.

Thinking back on it, I don’t think that I’ve ever said the words before, outright.

_ I love Simon Snow. _

_ Simon, I am completely, entirely, in love with you. _

__ I don’t think I’ve ever felt like it was ever worth saying. Worth the risk. I was always too afraid of someone hearing me to whisper it to myself or even write it down. And telling Simon always felt like a fantasy. I  _ want _ to say it. One day, maybe. But, it’s hard to get there. To ignore the little voice in my head that is constantly telling me how wrong all of it is. The voice sounds a lot like my father.

“You don’t know that, Baz. As much as we may try, we can’t possibly know exactly how Simon feels. And, Baz?” she nudges me. I grunt. “You deserve to be loved by someone.”

I walk out as fast as possible.

-

**SIMON**

It’s the end of the first day of wedding preparations (or, at least, any that involve me), and I can’t remember a time that I’ve felt this drained before.

All day, it was all measurements and  _ ‘this blue, or this one?’.  _ I hated every second of it.

It’s strange, coming back to my room. It hasn’t felt like  _ mine _ in a while. I see the slashes on the foot of my bed, inflicted by my sword in moments of anger and despair. And frustration. Just thinking about picking up something as heavy as a sword right now makes my head hurt.

It feels like this room belonged to a different Simon- a much more confused one. Although, of course, I’m still confused about a lot of things, at least I know I have Baz. And I know that I love him. I think that’s something.

I thought that maybe I would be able to see Baz or Penny briefly before going to bed, but clearly, that won’t be happening. It’s much too late, and even if I wanted to try and sneak into Baz’s room or something, I barely have enough energy to take off my clothes (I’m not even going to bother with nightclothes) and drag myself under the covers.

The bed is too big, I notice. Too big for just one person. Too big for _just_ _me._ It feels wrong. Uncomfortable, even. Like how I’d imagine it feels to live alone or something. _Too much space._

So, I gather the only motivation I have left (I’m pretty sure my body is shutting down) and carry a throw blanket and a pillow to one of the nice small sofas I have in my large bedroom, and curl myself up on it.

It helps a little. Makes it a bit less obvious that I’m alone here. 

It’s crazy to think how fast I became accustomed to practically living in Baz’s room with him (sometimes I catch myself thinking of it as  _ our  _ room) and how apparent the differences are to me. But, once Baz let me in, let me bring some of his walls down, I couldn’t help but get comfortable. It was just so easy and nice to let myself be a part of his life as much as I could. 

If I couldn’t see him during meals or had to act like I hated him at parties, I wanted to have everything that I  _ was _ allowed to have. And Baz never stopped me. When sleeping in his room became the usual, it was just an unspoken agreement between us that it was no longer  _ his  _ room. It was the one part of our lives that we could share.

And now, well. I just hope once my schedule goes back to normal, that it won’t be too difficult to get back to where we were. I know Baz, and it doesn’t take much for him to isolate himself and put on some sort of act to hide his feelings. I just don’t want him to think we’re moving backwards. Or like I’ve changed my mind or something.

And I’m going to tell him how I feel, as soon as things go back to normal (or, as normal as they can get). It’s scary, but he has to know. He  _ has _ to.

I pass out pretty quickly after settling down on the sofa. When the tailor knocks on the door in the morning, I realise that I fell off in the middle of the night and woke up on the floor.


	12. twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fiona is a scary woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi :) it's been hard, but I'm going to update weekly. I'm going on medication for depression soon, so that's fun. I actually really enjoy writing this fic though, or I think honestly I would have put it on hold by now. It's nice to have a sense of habit :) I hope you enjoy, and I'm looking forward to continuing to update this work!

**BAZ**

When I see my aunt wandering around in the halls of the palace, I’m sure that my entire body goes pale. 

My aunt Fiona is the scariest woman I have ever met, even in her softest moments. She knows me the best out of all of my family members, I think- she was my mother’s sister, and has held on to her as much as I have over the years. She’s the only one who knows that I prefer blokes, too. Which is why her being here doesn’t necessarily make me particularly happy.

With her, it’s harder to lie. She knows me _too_ well. And now lying will be completely inevitable.

I try to turn and leave before she’s able to catch a glimpse of me, but it’s too late.

“Basil! Get over here right now, boyo,” she calls out to me. I sigh to myself and turn back around, giving her a weird sort of expression between an awkward smile and a grimace. I walk over to her.

“Fiona,” I acknowledge. “What exactly are you doing here?”

She rolls her eyes. “And I thought you were the one with manners. Can’t I just come to see how my nephew is doing without having some sort of evil plan or something?” she shakes her head. I lift an eyebrow.

She’s put me up to things before, to bother Snow or to indulge her conspiracy theories on King David. It doesn’t usually work out as planned, or rather, sometimes her plans work, just differently than she expected. 

Whether it be something as petty as scaring a horse Snow is riding or something more ‘serious’ like sneaking into the King’s office, she’s always had an alternative reason to speak to me when I’m anywhere near Watford. I highly doubt that this time will be any different than the rest.

“No, you certainly can’t. Just tell me why you’re here,” I reply. She frowns. I’m not really in the mood to plot something against the man I’m in love with (yes- admittedly, sometimes when Snow accused me of ‘plotting his demise’, I kind of _was_ ) weeks before his big wedding. I’m just glad that being constantly irritable isn’t unusual for me, or else Dev and Niall would ask what’s gotten into me lately.

She glares at me for a second. I glare back. Then, a sigh. “Okay, you got me. There is a reason I’m here besides to see you, though, of course, that _is_ a contributing factor,” I cross my arms, “But, first, I want to catch up with you. How have you been, kid? Having a good time having so many opportunities to ridicule the Prince? Met any blokes?” she takes me by the arm and starts to walk along, headed towards the entrance to the gardens.

I sneer, but let her bring me with her (I do love Fiona, she’s the only family I have that bothers at all with understanding me). “No, Fiona, Jesus Christ. No. I haven’t met any new blokes. Or at least not any worth my time,” I say (Which isn’t a lie. I met Simon years ago). She looks at me and smirks.

“Are you sure? Come on, there must be someone who’s caught your eye. You have to benefit from all of this _somehow_.”

She has always been this way. Always asking me if I’ve met someone. When I told her it wasn’t women I liked, none of that changed. I suppose it is a bit comforting that she wants me to find someone who makes me happy. Or, it would be, if that person wasn’t Simon Snow.

“No. Drop it. I’d rather you tell me all of your absurd plans than interrogate me on my love life,” I say. We reach the french doors to the gardens. I open them for her and she walks out, narrowing her eyes at me. I follow her outside. 

“Well,” she sighs, “It was worth a try. I’ll cut to the chase. I heard that the Prince is getting married soon,” I frown, “and that he’s currently too busy with preparations to attend any events or socialize in any way for the next few days,” she continues. 

I already hate where this is going. She wants to use Snow’s absence in some way. Especially since King David left almost immediately after Snow proposed. 

“Your point?” I reply, annoyed.

“I want you to get into the King’s office and look through any files you can find,” she says sternly. I stop. She also eventually stops walking and faces me.

I scowl. “I’m not doing that, Fiona. Do you know how risky that is? And with the wedding coming up, getting caught could get me accused of all sorts of things,” I snap. She goes visibly stiff.

“Basil, it’s important.”

I sneer. “I don’t care what kind of conspiracy theory you’ve made up this time, I’m not doing it,” I retort. She glowers at me.

“It’s about your mother. I found some information that I think could link the King to her death. Baz, I wouldn’t be insisting so much if it weren’t truly urgent.”

I want to sit down. I feel like I could faint- the mention of my mother in the same conversation as Fiona’s plot makes me lightheaded. 

I know that look. The one Fiona is giving me right now. She is fucking with me. Whatever information she has, it’s completely convinced her that King David has something in his office that _I_ need to get a hold of, as soon as possible. 

I had given up on finding who killed my mother years ago- given up on trying to convince everyone else that her death wasn’t an accident, that she died _on purpose_. But if Fiona says she has _real_ evidence that could give me some answers, I don’t know if I can just refuse that.

But, I would have to go behind Simon’s back. 

And what if I do find something? And the King does turn out to have something to do with my mother’s death? That’s his father. His only parental figure that’s still alive. No matter how much I hate the King, I know it to be true. That Simon loves his father and that that’s the only family he has left. How could I ruin that for him?

When he returns, and I’ve made discoveries, how will I look him in the eye knowing I betrayed his trust? Simon doesn’t want me plotting, and certainly not against his own family. He would be crushed to find out that I even entertained the thought that his father might have murdered my mother.

And our relationship will probably already be fragile after everything he’ll have to do for the wedding preparations. 

Except that I’ve been longing endlessly for answers since I was a toddler. Growing up with so much pain and so many questions.

_Why me? Why her? Who would do something like that? How could it have been avoided?_

And then,

_Would she hate me if she knew me now? What would she think about me? Would she be disappointed?_

I’ve spent so much of my life wanting closure, feeling like she had been ripped away from me without an explanation, too early. Feeling like it was my fault she died that night.

She gave her life for mine. And I’ve always thought how much of a waste that was. How much she would have regretted it if she saw me now.

This could change _everything_. To know who killed her, to know for certain that someone _did_ \- that would change my whole life.

And I wouldn’t be the only one betraying the other’s trust. _I_ trusted Snow to keep our relationship a secret, an agreement he clearly disobeyed by telling Bunce. So, we would be even. It’s foolish logic, but I’m desperate. Not to mention he won’t be _mine_ much longer. If there’s nothing interesting to be found, there won’t be a reason to tell him anything happened at all and after his wedding, it’ll be an easy secret to keep.

I inhale. “What kind of information?”

She smirks. “I knew you’d have the sense to help me. I’m glad being in Watford with the Prince for so long hasn’t destroyed _all_ of your brain cells. As for the information I found, it’s pretty incriminating. I had been investigating an old rumour from when your mother died- a fairly popular piece of gossip that said that Natasha had been killed- but not directly by the person whose intentions were to harm her, rather, the theory was that someone had hired a hitman to do the job,” she starts. I knit my eyebrows together.

“So I decided to ask around about who could have been hired to do such a thing. Naturally, I didn’t get many responses- not a lot that were useful anyway, until recently. I was just about ready to give up on the whole thing, then I was told of a sort of underground group of anarchists who could tell me something about the night of Natasha’s death. Normally, I wouldn’t give something like that the time of day, but, I thought, ‘why the hell not? I have nothing better to do’,” I raise an eyebrow. She continues.

“It was strange, Basil… It was like they all knew something I didn’t. I tried to get as many answers as I could out fo them, but it was almost impossible. But, I was told, at least, that someone _had_ had the intentions to harm the Pitches that night. I didn’t have any reason to believe any of what they were saying, of course. But, then I saw someone there, Basil, I-” she stops. I give her a look. She isn’t one to be stunned.

“I saw this man, in the corner of the room. He had burn marks from head to toe, and he was staring right at me,” she says. I meet her eyes. “They told me they were sick of being silent. That they had information that could… that could truly ruin the King. Look, kid, I know it sounds ridiculous, but… the way they said it… they know who killed your mother. And whoever it was, the King knows it, too. And I need your help if we ever want to avenge her,” she finishes. 

I inhale sharply. _Bloody hell. What the fuck. Fuck a nine-toed troll, this could be something. Something big._

I knew that my mother had been killed, but now I know evidence _must_ exist, somewhere. I know it can’t be too far away. 

A pause. If it weren’t for bloody Simon Snow, I wouldn’t have hesitated at all to look into this. In fact, I would have been right there with Fiona, trying my hardest to find out who was responsible for my mother’s death- I would never have come to Watford in the first place.

Maybe it’s time to start getting used to that mindset, then.

“The men who guard the King’s quarters change shifts at ten o’clock tonight. I’ll search his office for anything that could be of interest. Now, please, Fiona, for the love of God, go pretend to have business here,” I sigh. She grins.

“‘Course. Come find me tomorrow at the nearest village, first thing in the morning. Until then, I won’t wander the castle and bother you too long,” she chuckles and pats my shoulder. I grimace. She walks away.

-

I can barely get through the rest of the day without going insane thinking about what Fiona told me. I check the time almost every two minutes- time seems to be going by extremely slowly without much to occupy myself.

I try to distract my mind from the topic by entertaining myself all afternoon. I read, but my brain can scarcely remember any details by the time I’ve finished. I play my violin, but only pieces I’ve practised millions of times before and can practically play blindfolded. I write shitty poems and then throw them away (what a waste of ink). 

I want to leave the castle for a bit, maybe go on a picnic. Hell, I’ll go to the village Fiona was talking about just to see it (I haven’t been leaving the castle in the past few months- it isn’t because I’m elitist, I just hate socialising). But something about only having access to the sun as a way to tell time changes my mind.

At one point I consider seeing if maybe I can find a way to talk to Snow, but I immediately deny myself the opportunity to even entertain the possibility. 

I think it’s better if I don’t. We both need to get everything in order in our brains and decide what to do when he marries- something I think is probably going to be more logically made if we spend some time apart. So I cross that off fairly quickly.

I wish I could say that I could talk to someone else (Dev and Niall, maybe Bunce, I’m desperate), but honestly, I think I’d just end up snapping at everything. Or, more than usual. I’m not really in the mood to be anything but alone right now. 

That’s what I do, then. Wait. Wait. And then wait some more for the clock to tell me it’s time. But the hours take years and I only have so many books and so much sheet music. 

-

I get there early.

It’s probably around nine fifty and I’ve already taken my spot in a storage room near the hallway leading to the King’s quarters. It’s dark, and I think I could hear the falling of a feather with how heavy the silence is around me. I do, however, hear the guards whispering to themselves. What their words could be, I haven’t the slightest clue. I’m trying hard to pay attention so that I hear their footsteps once they leave their posts and I can enter the quarters as soon as possible.

Once I’m in, I’ll have two options- either I can try to get through as much of his things as quickly as possible and get out before the guards are replaced (which could take from two minutes to twenty with specific circumstances), or I could wait until their next shift, which just happens to be at two in the morning, which sounds like a horrendous idea.

I decide to try my hardest to do the former.

Eventually, I hear the steps of the guards get closer and closer to the storage room, which I know means they’re beginning to head to the guards’ rooms to switch places. The sound of their approach gets louder and louder, and I hold my breath as they pass by the door to where I am. Once I can’t hear anything and I’m sure that they’ve left, I take a deep breath.

I discreetly open the door, praying to whatever deity that nothing creaks. I creep down the hallway, walking on only my toes, struggling to not make any noise. I go to open the double doors, and thank everything good in the world that they aren’t locked (probably because it isn’t too late in the night and the King only left days ago). 

They open, and I enter the room. Immediately, I see a large desk and a gold chair to match, clearly the King’s office space, and it looks promising. I close the door quietly behind me and head towards it. 

The room is weird to be in. This used to be where my parents slept. 

Obviously, King David changed a lot of things in here (the bastard), but it’s still all too familiar. A chill goes down my spine. I focus on the task at hand.

His desk is barely organised- there are stacks of papers in each corner, pens laying about and ink stains on a few documents that don’t seem to be terribly important, or at least not to David. The drawers aren’t overflowing, though, which is uncharacteristic given the rest of his workspace, but I hope it has to do with the significance of what may be inside.

Slowly, I open each of the drawers, one by one, just trying not to make noise (I’ve accepted that I’ll probably have to wait until the next guard shifts to get out of here, so I might as well take my fucking time). I look through all of the papers in them, nothing standing out too much.

There are documents of orders for wedding decorations, fabrics, food, nothing out of the ordinary. I dig through them anyway, using the moonlight to scan through the words of each piece of parchment. I see countless useless things- servant contracts, schedules, and invitations. I begin to become frustrated when I reach the sixth drawer and have found nothing interesting.

Maybe Fiona is crazy and I’m a lunatic for humouring her ideas. Maybe I’m risking myself for absolutely nothing.

I flipping through the pages faster now, just reading the headings and titles. 

I hit the bottom of the drawer and almost scream.

But, that’s when I see it. A small, silver key at the very end of it, has been hiding under all of the parchment. I take it eagerly, then close the drawer.

I look around the room for what the key could open. I go through his nightstands, check his dresser, and I see nothing that could be potentially locked and in need of a key to open it. 

After going through every possible place I could think of for hiding some sort of box or case, I go to my last resort. I get on the floor and look under the bed (I’m just glad I’m the only one here to witness how little dignity I have left). 

I almost gasp when I see a medium-sized chest at the farthest corner of the bed, dust clearly collecting on the top of it. A small keyhole glaring at me from the centre of it. I swear to God, I am so incredibly done with the world’s bullshit that I just slide myself under the bed and grab it, pulling it slowly out from underneath it.

As soon as it’s out, I grab the key and bring it over to the chest. 

_If this doesn’t fit in here, I’m going to commit murder._

I take the petite key and jam it into the hole, knitting my eyebrows when it actually fits.

_Jesus Christ, Fiona, you could actually be right about this one._

I hear the footsteps of the replacement guards come to the doors. My nerves spike. I know they won’t come into the room, but their presence at there terrifies me a bit. 

I turn the key, even more surprised when it doesn’t struggle. 

_Do I even want to know what’s in here? Maybe it has nothing to do with my mother and I’m just invading a man’s privacy._

Either way, he deserves it.

I open the chest.

Pause.

_What the hell?_

Letters, I think.

But, not many. I could probably count them with one hand.

_So what about them makes them worthy of an entire chest? With a key? Under his fucking bed? Blooming heck, this man is an idiot._

I pick one up and hold it up so that the moon shines on it and I can read it. It doesn’t look to be addressed to anyone and is also not signed. It’s more of a note than a letter.

_I’ll have to go later if you’re so fucking worried about someone waking up. That’ll cost you._

I narrow my eyes. It sounds like a reply. Surely this was meant to be read by King David at some point. _‘That’ll cost you?’_

I grab the next piece of paper.

_You’re too full of yourself- one day it will destroy you. For now, though, I’ll let it slide, as long as you keep your end of the bargain. As for how it will be done- leave that part to me and stay out of it. And don’t get ahead of yourself. If you don’t gain power the price will triple._

Fuck. This has to be what Fiona thought it would be. It _has_ to. I almost rip the next note with how harshly I take it.

_The date is set. I hope you like fire._

I feel like throwing up.


	13. thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> simon hates wedding planning and sleeping alone. baz doesn't know how to cope with his findings. enter penelope bunce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay update! comments, criticism, kudos, and bookmarks are very much welcomed! hope you enjoy :) (side note- why does no one talk about the fact that both simon and baz have ptsd in the books? idk I feel like we don't talk about the fact that he went through a whole lotta shit in his life, including being fucking trapped in a small space with no food for eight fucking weeks) (anyway,)

**SIMON**

God, what I would give to see Baz or Penny right now.

I hate planning this fucking wedding. There are still two more days left of this (this absolute bloody torment), and I already am so incredibly sick of it all. 

I haven’t properly seen a familiar face in days- all it is is posh fashion designers, decorations directors, event planners, the works. And by the end of each day, I feel as if I’ve been sucked dry of every ounce of energy left in my body. 

And I don’t even get to see Aggie. At the very least they could let me see who I’m getting _married_ to. When I asked why, they said all she had to do was try on a few dresses and the rest was up to me- and of course they think seeing each other’s outfits would bring misfortune to our marriage, also. As if it matters.

If I see one more suit, one more bouquet, one more colour palette- I think I’ll scream.

And then, every day, when all of that is over, I get to go to my room and sleep on the sofa (I’ve given up on sleeping in my bed- just makes me feel like shit), I wake up in an ungodly position, and I repeat the process.

I haven’t tried to actually meet Baz in-between a meeting- I actually sort of hoped _he_ would be the one to seek _me_ out, but so far he hasn’t shown up around a corner or waiting for me in a storage closet. He hasn’t tried sneaking into my room or leaving me a note anywhere. Which is fine. He’s probably just busy with something or other- I doubt he’ll spend this entire week just _waiting around for me_ or something. 

I guess that morning before I proposed to Agatha made me eager. Eager for Baz. Like I had finally found it- the reason I was put on this Earth. To be with Baz, in every way possible. I didn’t get to relish in that feeling for very long, though. I wasn’t allowed to be kept in that world for as much as I wanted. 

I miss Baz’s touch. I miss Baz touching _me._ In every way that he’s done it- whether it be letting me curl up into his side while we sleep, or running his hands up and down my sides, with that look in his eyes. Like he’s saving the moment in his memory, in fear that nothing like it will happen again.

Baz is _so lovely_. My heart hurts just thinking about it. 

But sometimes, he gets so blurry around the edges. So far away from me, when all I want is to be close to him. If I hadn’t been so stubborn, he would never have let me take his walls down. Never would have let me see him for who he is. Just a sad, lonely boy. Nothing scary or irking about that. 

But he’s so fearful at times. So scared that everything will be ripped from him in an instant. And maybe I feel the same- but I’d rather enjoy the present than suffer dwelling on the inevitable future. Baz can’t do that, I don’t think. I don’t think he _lets_ himself do that, as hard as I’ve seen him try. I wish I could ease his worries, even just a bit.

-

  
  


**BAZ**

I’ve completely isolated myself in my room. The letters are hidden underneath books and supplies in my desk. I haven’t so much as looked in that general direction since I placed them there.

_What the hell am I going to do?_

When I came back from the King’s quarters last night, the sound of my heartbeat filling my ears, dangerously close to heaving, I locked the door and decided that I couldn’t possibly open it once more before I’d collected myself.

I have yet to come close to such a notion. 

It was all there- or, at least what I could piece together. 

I was meant to die that night. _I_ had been the sole target of the arsonist- the one hired by the King. 

His intention had been to be rid of me in order to erase the only possible heir to the throne (Fiona had already detached herself from the crown years before- I was expected to become King after my mother, whether I wanted it to be so or not). They wanted for my death to be a sort of warning of rebellion, to show the lengths they would go to take the crown- David and a group of people who wanted to end my mother’s power over Watford.

That night, the nursery was set on fire, and my mother was the only one close enough to help, and there had not been enough time to call for anyone else. So, she didn’t. She must have known that if she didn’t do something at that moment, her only son would be burned to death before her very eyes. She went in.

My father did eventually get there. By the time he did, though, there was nothing left of her. She had seen who did the crime, I think- or else she wouldn’t have stayed back. But, he isn’t dead. The arsonist. He sent letters to David after the fire. So he must have pushed her into the flames or fought her long enough for her to be unable to leave.

I should have been the one to die that night. And yet.

I don’t know how I’ll tell Simon. I haven’t even figured out how to leave my bed yet.

I keep looking out my window and wondering if I’d die jumping out of it. 

But, then, I think how much crueller that would be to Simon than anything else. I couldn’t hurt him like that. Not now, when I know he must be miserable with everything going on. But telling him everything would break him, too. 

_Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck._

I wish I hadn’t talked to bloody Fiona. I wish I hadn’t agreed to her stupid plan or read those stupid letters. For once, I don’t want this knowledge. It burdens me in a way I’ve never felt before.

I didn’t meet up with Fiona this morning, although I said that I would. I wasn’t physically able to. Just the thought of having to recount what I saw, having to reread everything to her- all of it made me nauseous.

I could very well pretend to not have found anything at all. But then what would that mean for my mother? All my life all I’ve wanted was to hold someone accountable for what happened to her, and now that I have the chance, it’d make me one hell of a coward to not follow this up. 

Simon will hate me. Really hate me. Hate me in the way I always thought he had- but it’ll be unbearable now. He’ll accuse me of plotting against him and his father, the only family he has, and if I expose this information surely it will ruin the King’s reputation and absolute chaos will ensue in Watford.

I’ve really fucked up now, haven’t I? I should have just gone about my business while Snow dealt with the wedding.

Fuck, I need help.

-

“Bunce,” I say as her door opens. She looks like she’s been through a storm. Much to my surprise, however, she actually looks quite delighted to see me.

“Baz! Oh, thank God. I need your help. What colour do you think suits me better? Yellow, or violet-”

“Bunce. I have a lot to tell you. Whatever it is you were occupying yourself with, it can wait. Trust me. You’ll want to hear this,” I interrupt sternly. Her face drops a bit but she clears her throat and nods.

I hate to barge in like this and intrude on whatever enjoyment she was having- if we were in any other situation, I think I would’ve actually liked to spend some time with her (she is Snow’s closest friend, after all, might as well get along with her)- but right now is not the time for that.

She lets me in, and we sit on her bench (the same place in which I practically admitted to being in love with Simon Snow) (dear God, why do I keep confiding in her?).

I brought the letters with me, in case she needed tangible proof (I can come off as pretty untrustworthy at times, I confess). They’re folded up in my hands- I’m clutching them with all my force (I was scared of someone in the hallways taking a look, or them falling) (I’m a bit paranoid about this whole thing). She’s looking at them now. I have the urge to move them from her view. I don’t.

Hesitantly, I give them to her. She takes them with caution, like she knows whatever information she’s about to find from them won’t be to be taken lightly (she’s right) (of course she is, it’s Penelope Bunce).

“I found these letters addressed to the King, presumably written by,” my breath catches (I don’t stutter or go speechless, ever) (this is a rare exception), “a man who set the nursery on fire the night of my mother’s death,” I say. Her eyes widen. She immediately begins to look through them.

I trust Bunce a surprising amount. She’s smart- almost as smart as I am ( _almost_ ), and I know that someone that intelligent wouldn’t make foolish decisions so easily. And I couldn’t just keep all of this information to myself. It would kill me.

And she’s the only one I could think of who wouldn’t become completely irrational when faced with these discoveries.

I do realise, however, the consequences that could come with telling Snow’s best friend that his father indirectly committed murder. I’m not only further betraying his trust- but also putting her in the middle of an extremely complicated situation. 

But, I’m also exceedingly desperate to share this with someone who _isn’t_ my Aunt Fiona.

I watch her eyes scan each letter, hoping this won’t be a decision I’ll end up regretting. She goes through them fairly quickly after reading the first one- she’s eager to take as much of it in as quickly as possible. 

Eventually, she looks back up from the parchment and she stares at me, her eyes showing how conflicted she is (Bunce is as easy to read as Snow is). I avert my eyes (generally, I’m great at maintaining eye contact, but I can’t bear to look anywhere but the ground right now).

“The King- he... he hired… an arsonist? To- to kill your mother?” her eyes begin to narrow in confusion. I knit my eyebrows together and nod. In the corner of my eye, I see her put her face in her hands and exhale forcibly. Frustratingly. She stays in that position for a while. 

“Bunce,” I murmur, “what the hell do we do?”

-

She and I decided that we would give ourselves more time to contemplate the repercussions that could come with our next actions regarding the newfound information on the King. When she suggested perhaps not doing anything about it just yet, I felt so much relief fill my body I thought I could cry. 

It’s like every emotion I felt growing up without my mother- the first time an unknowing adult asked me where my mother was when I got lost at a village, the first time I visited her grave, the first time I realised everyone else around me had two parents instead of one- came back, all at once. 

It felt numbing, almost. Like I didn’t have the capacity for so much emotion. For years I’ve felt wrong. Always wanting to either destroy everyone else or myself. But it was easy to show them only to an extent- use that anger to push people away, to pretend that tireless studying could replace the normal life I always wanted. 

Now, it’s too much.

_My mother was murdered, and it was in place of my own death._

How could one human ever have enough space to contain the agony that comes with that?

_What a waste of a life._

I’ve always suspected of her death being intentional. But, I keep imagining the pain she must have gone through that night. The disappointment my father must have felt when he realised I was the one to survive. 

God, what kind of fucking torture that is. Losing the woman you’ve loved for so many years, and only be left with the child who looks so similar to her and could have been the one to go instead. It’s cruel of me to think my father would have preferred my own fatality in place of hers- but the thought is there nonetheless.

I’m walking back to my room, walking through halls with my hands grasping at parchment once again. 

When I arrive, I’m horrified to see a white envelope placed in my door’s mail slot. In large cursive, _Basilton Grimm-Pitch_ is written on it. The envelope has small blue accents to it. I seize it forcefully and go into the room, slamming the door behind me.

I lean back against the door once it’s closed and slid down to sit on the floor. I already know what it must be. I thought they’d send these out tomorrow or the day after. I suppose they couldn’t wait any longer to formally announce it, then.

_Prince Simon Snow and Princess Agatha Wellbelove_

_And their families_

_Request the honour of your presence_

_At their holy matrimony_

_The thirty-first of May_

I throw the invitation as far away from me as possible.

Simon Snow has a wedding date and his father killed my mother. Today has been the greatest fucking day of my life.

My heart sinks, and I actually feel it. My blood runs cold.

I notice the entirety of my body begins to tremble without my control. 

I close my eyes and try to get my shit together.

This room feels so, so empty all of a sudden. I take up too little space for such a large place. 

I hug my knees and press my eyes to them. Try to drown out every noise in my head screaming and yelling at me. Try to remember the sensation of the ground below me.

I can feel myself breathing, but I don’t feel like oxygen is entering my body. I try inhaling more, but it only makes matters worse- now I’m hyperventilating and I think I could nearly faint. I can barely tell if I _am_ conscious, with the way my eyelids are shut tightly, there’s no way to properly discern if the darkness is the view of the back of my lids or the void of emotion.

I remain like that for a long time, I think. I couldn’t quite say if it was minutes or hours, days or weeks. But it was over eventually. It might have been seconds, even. 

It’s pathetic that I would lose myself so much- especially when I’ve always been perfectly capable of being collected at all times and not letting anything get to me. I’m good at saving emotion for later.

I get the envelope and invite and I bring it to my fireplace, and I watch it burn.

I suppose some things have a cruel way of sticking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did I use baz to write out how i experience panic attacks as a way to cope with my crippling anxiety and depression? yes, yes I did. and you would've done it too


	14. fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> simon misses baz, concerned penny, pretty agatha, and baz misses simon too :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um,,, hi,,,,, :) to put it shortly the past month has been my ultimate low point with mental health (so much so that I was almost submitted into a mental hospital... not my proudest moment). I actually wrote this chapter like a day after that thirteenth chapter was uploaded but felt I shouldn't post it yet because I didn't feel like anyone would really like it or anything (idk depression thoughts) and I wanted to edit the hell out of it and really put my all into it before posting it. I haven't even felt close to having the energy to do that for weeks. So, I'm posting it, unedited, short, and maybe slightly shit writing (also some of the writing is clearly just my depression projecting onto my writing...fun,,). I just want to get the ball rolling again because I really do love writing for this story. I'm going to be posting every Friday or every other Friday from now on as it just fits best with my schedule and I'm starting face two face school soon (socially distanced). I really hope you don't hate this chapter haha. Also to the people who asked about me in the comments and wanted to know if I was okay, it meant the absolute world to me that anyone even cared or noticed about my wellbeing. Thank you for that.

SIMON

Today’s my last day doing wedding preparations and I feel eager for the hours to pass. From the moment I woke up, I’ve been restless from the anticipation. 

I decided yesterday, in the middle of helping to choose what food would be served at the wedding, that I’d tell Baz I’m in love with him as soon as I was able to. Ever since then, I’ve been completely absorbed by the thought of it- how I’ll do it, where, how I would even bring it up. Instead of paying attention to what is being said to me, I’ve tried to practice what I’ll say in my head over and over again.

Despite that, I’m hoping that when the moment finally comes, I won’t need to recite some speech I’d memorised, and I’ll just sort of know what to say. Thinking too far ahead usually doesn’t work out for me, and I’ve learned by now that trying to plan my actions or words only ends up in disaster.

But,  _ God, I’m so excited _ . And scared. That’s how it’s always been with him, though, isn’t it?

Time has been going by painfully slow today- the entire week has, really. I haven’t talked to Baz since that morning I proposed to Agatha, the first time we were ever intimate with each other, but what also had felt like it’d be the last time we’d be together again. That day felt both like the beginning and the end of the world.

Now, I don’t even think about any of that. I just think about how much I love Baz, and that’s enough to keep me sane for the duration of the day. 

_ Jesus Christ, I hope he loves me back. _

-

BAZ

There’s grass in my hair and blue cornflowers brushing against my ankles. 

My eyes are closed and all I hear is the pleasant spring breeze and the songs of starlings and robins flying above me. 

The past couple of days have been sad. Sadder than usual. Lonely, in some ways. 

But it’s nice here. Quiet. Spacious. Far away. 

I think and I think and I think. I think so much sometimes I forget I’m alive. That somehow I’m an attribute to everything that happens around me. That I exist alongside everyone else. 

The only time I’ve ever truly felt  _ alive  _ is when I’m with Simon. He helps me remember. Because that’s what he’s so achingly good at- existing. Existing enough for the both of us. And sometimes I feel so glad to be there to witness it that, for a moment, I do, too. 

When I was younger, maybe 15, I thought my world was ending, and I was fine with it. I went through a time when I hated almost every aspect of myself, every flaw and every shortcoming. I thought I was a defect. That there was just simply something wrong in my nature- why was I the only one around me who felt nothing but misery?

Now, it’s just a feeling I carry around with me all of the time, constantly in the background, but I do my best at disregarding it. 

What is the goal, really? To be happy? I’ve always thought that that was an unrealistic aspiration- what does it even mean? I feel happy when I’m with my siblings, when I somehow share a pleasant moment with Dev and Niall, when Simon smiles my way, but does that mean I’ve reached it, then? I don’t think it does. So how do you know?

It’s difficult to believe that one day I  _ could _ be happy. Really, truly  _ happy.  _ Is it even possible?

I inhale. It smells like wood and pollen and sunshine.

“Baz?” 

I open my eyes and see the silhouette of Penelope Bunce looking down at me. 

I close my eyes again and sigh.

“Yes, Bunce?”

I hear the rustling of grass and I assume she’s laid down next to me. I don’t stop her.

“I know we said we wouldn’t talk about what happened until we were both thinking rationally, but… I realised I hadn’t reacted entirely correctly or said the things I wanted to,” she says from beside me. 

“And that is?” My eyes open slightly and I squint at the sun’s rays. Bunce shifts.

“Are you okay?” she says softly.

I grimace. “What?”

“Are you alright? Emotionally, I mean? I can’t imagine what it must have been like to read all of that,” she replies. I press the palms of my hands to my eyelids.

“God, Bunce. Since when do you care?” I’ve always been an aggressive person, always giving snarky comments or being passive-aggressive, but it actually makes me feel a bit bad when I say that. Like her concern offended me- like her presence offended me. 

I hear her huff. I can imagine the face she’s making right now. Probably on the verge of rolling her eyes- frustrated with me, which is probably understandable. Sometimes I hate that I act so defensively all of the time. But, she takes a deep breath. “Don’t try to change the topic, Baz. I asked you a question,” she mumbles.

I knit my eyebrows together.

“No,” I mutter.

-

AGATHA

The dress is exactly what I expected for it to be, and yet I still get surprised when I see myself in the mirror.

It’s white and has sleeves that only reach my elbows- long ruffle cuffs matching with the collar of the dress. I actually quite like it.

I didn’t think I’d enjoy getting fitted for something like this. I’ve seen wedding dresses that either have a million ruffles and bows or make your waist the size of a book’s spine, and they all seemed to me to be extremely uncomfortable to wear. And perhaps they were. But I don’t feel much discomfort in the one I’m wearing now.

I was given options. They showed me displays of dresses after dresses, but the majority of them looked too frivolous to me, except for this one. It was the most simple one out of the ones they’d shown me, which is why I’d decided on it. It looked nice, but not so much as to bring all of the attention to myself.

It was perfect.

It almost makes the thought of getting married a little less deplorable and anxiety-inducing.

Seeing myself this way really opened my eyes to reality- that in just a few weeks I’d be bound to someone else for the rest of my life. I had to sit down for a second after trying on the first dress.

My mum wrote me a letter telling me she wished she could be here to see me in all of these gowns, but that she was preoccupied with ‘business’. I suppose she always is. I wasn’t actually very upset, though. I wanted to do the fitting alone, so that I wouldn’t embarrass myself with how sentimental the whole thing can be.

Now I kind of wish she had shown up. Maybe she could hug me or tell me how pretty I look in this dress. Or tell me she’s proud of me. That’d be nice.

-

SIMON

It’s finally the end of the day, and I’m walking the halls of the castle.

I’m tired. Physically, mentally, I’m fucking drained. 

Without thinking, I find myself walking a familiar path, but not the one leading to my room.

I don’t even truly register the decision I’m making or why I am, but I don’t stop turning corners or opening doors. 

I’m going to Baz’s room. For the first time in almost two weeks. 

When I get there, I give myself a few moments before putting the key into the keyhole of his door (he always locks the door at night- I think it may have something to do with what happened with his mother, but I haven’t asked).

I open the door to see him on the bed, shirtless, with dark bags under his eyes, clearly surprised at my entering. 

“Simon?” His voice is a bit raspier than the last time we spoke. I close the door behind me and lock it again (I have no problem with doing so if it makes Baz feel a bit better).

“Hi,” I say, laughing nervously, “Sorry, I, um… wedding preparations are done, and… well, I don’t know, I just- I really needed to see you.”

He gets up and walks over to me. He stands before me and I have to stop myself from just kissing him already, or hugging him, or touching his hair. “Jesus Christ, Simon,” he closes the gap and embraces me. I almost cry. It’s nice. It’s so nice. God, I should have come to see him the past couple of weeks- touching him again is such a relief.

I thought that I’d want to profess my love for him the moment I laid eyes on him, but I couldn’t do it then. It didn’t seem right to me. I was going to tell him in the morning. He seemed tired. Very tired. And I was, too. 

When we stopped embracing, I smirk. “See? It’s too hot to sleep with a shirt on,” I comment, looking down at his bare chest. He pushes me away and I laugh.

“Oh, piss off. I needed to wash some of my clothes today and I didn’t want to wear the shirt I had on during the day to sleep,” he retorts. I grin. I go towards him again and he actually gives me a small smile. I press my lips to his. 

“I missed you, Baz,” I say softly.

He kisses me again. “I missed you, too, Simon. God, I missed you,” he whispers. I don’t know why but in some ways it surprises me to hear it. That he missed me, too. For a while I kind of thought maybe I was just being clingy or dramatic, and that he just saw it as just another few weeks, but it makes my heart skip a beat to hear that he  _ missed _ me. He kisses my jaw. 

He  _ missed _ me.


	15. fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> surprise, Simon's POV, the boys decide to get drunk together, devil's tango, simon never realised how dusty it is under a bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so long story short i finally recovered from COVID (yes, I had corona, thankfully I'm not high risk and I'm fine now), I'm slowly rejoining society and trying to leave a depressive episode I was having and trying to talk to people and kind of failing, and here we are. have this mess of a chapter that I actually had fun writing because I've never witnessed someone else other than myself be outwardly drunk so this was kind of an experiment because I don't really know how to describe it??? also I feel like everyone might experience it differently so idk
> 
> ok bye
> 
> ps at this point research for this general time period has gone out the window and I just want to write and have fun ok
> 
> -andre

**SIMON**

Seeing Baz absolutely pissed is something I never thought I’d be lucky enough to witness. It’s the greatest fucking thing I have ever seen.

It was his idea, actually. He said he wanted to experience as much as he could with me before the wedding, including getting utterly shit-faced with me. Of course, I agreed. It sounded like fun and I’d never really gotten incredibly drunk before so I took it as an opportunity to do so whilst also getting to share the experience with Baz. 

I didn’t think that  _ he’d  _ ever drunk enough alcohol to get tipsy, but when I asked, he said he’d done it many times before. It surprised me. I always thought of Baz as the type of bloke who was above letting himself become intoxicated- his guard is always up and he’s always cool and collected. It seemed uncharacteristic of him to willingly put himself in a situation like that.

He told me that he’s only ever gotten drunk alone, which is why I’d never seen him that way (God knows I followed him around enough when we were younger- if he’d ever drunk too much at a party, I would have known). So, in a way, I felt touched that he was okay with me being there. I imagine he sees being drunk as being vulnerable, or, I do at least- it’s much harder to pretend to be calm and self-assured when you have alcohol in your system. 

Clearly, I was right. 

We’re on the floor of his room, our backs to the bed. Between us, we have random bottles of wine stolen from the kitchens. Baz has already drunk most of one of the bottles. He’s not a lightweight, I’ll give him that.

I still haven’t had much of it (I admit I wanted to be at least a little sober so that I could fully enjoy the experience for a while), but I will soon. For now, Baz is undeniably hammered and unable to act as cold and unreadable as he usually does.

His eyelids are droopy and his hair is falling in waves in front of his face (I want to touch it). I wish he’d keep it like this all the time.

“You’re so pretty, Simon, you know that?” he smiles lazily, leaning on the bed. I laugh.

_ Right to the point, then. _

__ He frowns. “It’s not a joke.” I continue laughing. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” he says defensively, which just cracks me up more. He says it like he’s mad at me for implying he’s wrong. It’s incredible and strange to see him be so forward. And softer, which is nice. And he called me  _ Simon _ . He’s definitely wasted.

“Jesus Christ, Baz,” I chuckle, then take a drink of the wine. “Gentlemen don’t simply say things like that, you know,” I smile back at him. “So embarrassing for you,” I joke. Another sip of wine.

He looks at me and smirks. “I spent a lot of time being a gentleman,” he mutters. He moves closer to me and I grin. “But I think it’s worth the sacrifice of being honest, don’t you think, Simon?” His eyelids are dropping wonderfully and his face is nearing mine. I bite my lip, laughing nervously under my breath. His breath smells like alcohol and citrus. It’s been a while since we’ve had a conversation like this (so  _ not _ depressing and serious).

“I suppose it is,” I reply. His eyes drift down to my mouth. My breath hitches. He has such lovely eyes, Baz. They’re the type of grey you see on marble statues and vast oceans. They definitely beat mine, which are a dull blue colour. I’ve thought about that before, I think. How much I love his eyes. Though I think at the time I must’ve thought of it as some type of envy. What an idiot I was.

He barely brushes his lips on mine, and I close my eyes and lean in. 

He pulls away and cackles. My eyes flutter open and my cheeks go red. He falls back on the floor, laughing. “Oh what, you thought I’d just let you stay sober and snog me while I’m wasted? What a foolish assumption, Snow,” he scoffs. 

“Fuck off, Baz,” I groan, putting my head in my hands. “I just wanted to be able to remember what drunk Baz acts like.” I shrug, grabbing a wine bottle and downing the rest of it. 

He sits back up. Kisses me quick. “Drunk Baz needs a filter, I think,” he retorts. I laugh in agreement. Though I am rather entertained by this side of him.

I begin to think I might just be the lightweight out of the two of us because I start to feel different already. So much so that I decide it’s a good idea to practically throw myself at him (which, I admit, is a little embarrassing) (I’ve been touch starved for two weeks, give me a break), resting my arms on his shoulders and kissing him roughly. He kisses back, but doesn’t let me get very far before he pushes me away, though he does so gently ( _ Baz being gentle! _ ). 

“And you call  _ me _ ungentlemanly?” He kisses me. I sit on his lap and straddle him (we should do this more often). He raises an eyebrow, then takes a breath. I smile. “Simon,” he breaths. I press our lips together. “Do you know how long I wanted this?” he whispers. I cock my head to the side.

“How long?” _ I’d like to know. _

__ “An absurd amount of time, Simon.” He kisses my neck.

I wish he’d elaborate. 

A horrible idea comes to mind. I let the alcohol decide what to do. “Baz?”

He looks up at me. “Simon?”

I bite my lip. “I love you,” I say abruptly. 

I couldn’t stop myself from saying it.  _ I was thinking it _ . And I’ve been waiting for so long to tell him. Probably much longer than I’m aware of- so I said it before I could start overthinking it.

I didn’t think I’d tell him while we’re both sloshed, but I couldn’t keep holding out for the right timing, if there would ever be such a thing. I just hope he remembers my confession in the morning. I hope  _ I  _ remember. I’d hate to have to admit my love for Baz for a second time if he does forget.

Baz’s eyes narrow. I’m already starting to get off of him (and professing your love seems to be a little sobering). I try to convince myself that it doesn’t matter how Baz reacts- all that matters is that he  _ knows  _ and that I don’t waste any more time not telling him.

But watching him digest my words is just about the most painstaking thing I’ve ever experienced.

“You… you  _ love  _ me?” he whispers, like a question. I’m kind of irritated that I have to repeat myself. 

“Yes, Baz. And I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while, I just… I was scared,” I murmur. At this, his eyes widen (still their lovely shade of grey).

“Scared of what, Simon? Jesus fucking Christ, I love you, too,” he says, reaching over and taking my hands in his. It feels nice. He squeezes them. I let out a sigh of relief, briefly letting go to rub my eyes.

“I can’t- I just- I didn’t know if you’d feel the same way, or… I don’t know  _ how  _ to love. I don’t know how to just let myself  _ be  _ in love. Fuck, Baz, the fact that I was even able to acknowledge how I feel is a miracle in itself. And what if I mess it all up? Our relationship is basically doomed and I know you want to cut me out of your life after the wedding but  _ God _ , Baz I think it could kill me-” 

“ _ Simon. _ ”

I love it when he says my name.

Baz presses his lips to mine and holds my hands just a bit tighter. When he’s pulled away, he looks into my eyes, an intense expression playing out on his face. His jaw is set. “There is no force in this world that could ever make me stop loving you. You need to know that. And I’ve told you how much I’ve wanted you-  _ God, Simon, I have wanted you _ \- but being with you, knowing you’re married to someone else- knowing you share that with someone other than me- I can’t do that. I shouldn’t have let myself indulge in this, in  _ you _ , but I don’t want to regret any of it and I don’t want to put you in that situation,” he says. He’s clearly not sober, slurring some of his words and stopping a few times, but I can tell he means what he says. 

I don’t want to talk about this anymore. 

I just want to be drunk and kiss Baz and let him take me over. I want to go back to sloppy flirting and wavy hair. I nod. 

I drink more wine. He does, too (though I feel the need to stop him- he’s had too much). 

“Baz,” I say. He looks at me. “Can we move to the bed?”

His face flushes a bit (again, drunk Baz is a sight to behold) but ultimately clears his throat and nods back at me. The small smile that’d been pulling on my lips earlier returns. We stand up, bodies pressed together.

He gives me this look- like he’s trying to figure me out- like he’s trying to ask me what I want from him. 

_ I want everything, Baz. I always have. _

__ I tell him so, because it’s such a relief to be able to. 

There’s a warmth in the pit of my stomach, a tug at the edges of my mouth. A colour of pink or red on my cheeks and ears. This is all I want to feel, ever. It’s all I need to feel, nothing else.

This much alcohol is such a danger because suddenly I have so many thoughts going through my head and nothing’s slowing down. I feel so light. So light with how much I love Baz, love the rough texture of his fingertips and silk of his dark hair. I’m high off it. 

“You can have all of it, Simon,” he says and he’s pushed me back onto the mattress, my head pressed on his pillow. I grin. He still hasn’t gone back to calling me Snow again. Fucking hell, I genuinely  _ giggle  _ at the way he’s talking to me. Somehow I feel so giddy and excited now (hella mood swings if you ask me) like I must be imagining the scene playing out before me.

Just thinking about it makes me laugh. A year ago I thought he was the epitome of evil- I pictured him as this storybook villain who wanted to kill me or ruin my life. Turns out Baz  _ was  _ plotting, just very different things than I’d have ever thought. A chuckle escapes me. Baz raises an eyebrow.

“Something funny?” he asks with a bit of a smirk, bringing himself down and kissing me. That just makes the notion even more amusing. My smile widens.

“No, no,” I laugh, “I just… Jesus Christ, Baz, what if my thing is being into blokes who plot against me?” My laughter only increases when I say that aloud.

He rolls his eyes but stays on top of me, kissing my jaw and the creases of my eyes. “You’re unbelievable,” he mutters. I press my lips to the bridge of his nose. “You’re a nightmare, Simon Snow.” I close my eyes, so happy and delirious out of my mind. 

I feel like crying or laughing some more or singing or yelling. There’s just  _ so much to feel _ . The lines are so blurred and so clear. 

_ But all I see is Baz. Grey eyes, dark lashes, strong arms. Baz, Baz, Baz. And he’s right here, with me, just as glad as I am. I know exactly where he is and he’s right where I want him.  _

_ He gives me his everything and I take all I can get because I’m desperate for him. I love him and I love being loved by him. He does, and he shows it in every way he can, and nothing exists but him and I. _

_ Baz Pitch, I never knew it’d be possible to feel the way you make me feel. _

-

Waking up the next morning is unpleasant.

Instead of the singing of birds and rustling of leaves, there’s a loud, aggressive banging on the door and yelling. 

“Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, you are hereby under arrest for treason against the King!” The voice is thunderous and scares the shit out of me, immediately making me alert and aware of my surroundings. I sit up as fast as possible. There’s a pounding in my head and I feel like throwing up. My body hurts. The shouting does nothing to help soothe my pains.

I can barely begin to process what the fuck is happening around me. Baz and I are in his bed, absolutely fucking starkers, the bedsheets are all over the place and the floor is a mess with knocked over bottles of wine and clothing. Baz is just as awake as I am, already panicking.

“Snow get under the bed right fucking now,” he seethes, and, without much comprehension of the situation, I do what he says. And suddenly, only about 30 seconds after waking up, I’m lying face down on the floor beneath Baz Pitch’s bed. 

I hear him move around the room in a rush, knocking over some random items in the process (which I can’t even  _ see  _ because I’m under his fucking  _ bed _ ). He sounds like he’s hurriedly putting clothes on and getting to the door before whoever is trying to enter ends up breaking the goddamn door (I’ve never been this grateful that Baz locks his doors at night out of paranoia).

_ God, the floor is dusty. _

I try my hardest not to sneeze or make noise.

A click of the door unlocking, and then loud, frightening footsteps. It’s only then that the words that had woken me up start to dawn on me.

_ What the bloody hell is happening? _

__ “You are to be immediately put in the castle’s dungeon and given an appropriate sentencing for your crimes, which include plotting harm, conspiring, and endangering the King,” the voice says. 

_ Baz did what-? _

__ I cringe at the sound made by what I assume to be a man grabbing Baz roughly (and painfully, based on how Baz grunts slightly). 

_ I swear to all known to man, if I sneeze right now I will commit murder. _

__ The more footsteps I hear and the more I hear Baz struggling, the more I have to shut my eyes tightly and ball my fists so that I don’t just get out from under the bed and hit whoever has his hands on him.

“Let go of me, bastard!” Baz growls at the man. I clench my fists tighter. More footsteps, except now they’re just leaving.

Eventually, the noise starts getting fainter and fainter. Until there’s nothing left. Silence.

I wait for a while to make any sound, in case anyone is still in the room. Nothing.

“... Baz?” I whisper.

Then, I sneeze. “Fuck,” I mutter. No response. My brows crease in worry.

After a few more seconds of waiting, I finally come out from under Baz’s bed. 

The place is still a mess, except more than before. And Baz is gone, and I have no idea where he is or where and why he’s been taken. Or if he’s safe. He didn’t  _ sound  _ safe.

I start panicking again. 

I woke up fifteen minutes ago and now I’m standing in the middle of Baz’s room, alone, with nothing but a bedsheet covering me. 

_ What the fuck. _


	16. sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> its cold in the castle dungeons, simon is mad but also sad but also worried for Baz' well being but still mad, Baz remembers what it's like to make Simon angry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> early chapter because i was feeling generous 😃

BAZ

I was placed in a cell in the underground dungeons of the castle ( _placed_ is a strong word- I was _thrown_ into a cell, more like). I hate it here (which, I suppose, is the point). The floors are inexplicably wet (I’d rather not have an explanation), it’s cold as fuck, and the lack of natural light makes the place feel less like a dungeon and more like a cave. 

I doubt that my situation will get any better- they don’t put people in here unless they’ve committed serious crimes- crimes that could potentially be punishable by death. For example, _treason_. 

I guess I finally got my wish, then. And right when everything I’ve ever wanted seemed to be in reach. 

Simon Snow told me he _loved_ me. 

And I told him I loved him back like I’ve been wanting to do since we were kids.

And now I’m here, in a dungeon, thinking about how I’ll probably be executed by his father’s will.

He’ll want to take it back after he hears what I’ve done. He’ll never repeat those words again.

_I love you._

Never again. Not after this.

My life will have been a great tragedy- I spent my entire life hopelessly craving Simon Snow- lusting for him, loving him, wanting nothing but to kiss him. And when I finally did, when it all finally happened, when the boy I’ve always loved says he loves me back, I fuck everything up. And his father takes everything away from me. My lover, my lineage, my life. 

Fiona will be the last Pitch in the world. And I’m sure the King will kill her, too, if she’s discovered to have been a part of this.

And then, there’s nothing left.

At least Snow won’t have anything to remember me by. It will be less painful that way, though I’m sure the resentment will help him heal quicker.

He’s so loyal to the King, so blind to his father’s _real_ motivation. His goal was never to make Watford a better place or change my mother’s policies. All he wanted was the control. The _power._ Nothing else. 

And Simon follows him nonetheless. Even if he killed my mother. Even if he kills _me_. 

But can I really blame him so much for it? 

If my mother came back and did the things his father has done, I’m not sure I wouldn’t do the same. So I understand, in a way. Not entirely, though. Because I think if even my mother came close to hurting Simon, I’d stop. It would hurt, but I’d stop. I won’t force him to do that. Stop being loyal to his father for me. I don’t know that that would be a fair thing to ask of him.

I’m not worth that much.

And even if I was, I know Simon Snow. He’s stubborn. He holds on to things. He’s loved his father his entire life- the King is the only family he’s ever known. He’s probably not even entirely sure of his love for me. He’ll just keep doing what I’ve always known him to do.

Not question the King’s authority. Nod. Agree without thought. Follow whatever ridiculous things that are asked of him.

That’s why we’re all here, isn’t it?

For Simon to marry. His final task. The last test for the King to make sure Simon’s committed to what _David_ wants, not what _Simon_ wants. And he’s gone along with it.

Before King David, the throne was passed to the heir when the monarch resigned their responsibilities and gave it to whoever was next in line that was eligible to lead the kingdom. The only requirements were that the heir needed to be over 18 years of age and needed to have a proper education. None of this marriage bollocks.

But, of course, King David wanted Simon to not only go through different hoops, but also controlled what exactly Simon learned so as to control his opinions.

Clearly, he didn’t account for Penelope Bunce and her unstoppable need to culture Simon.

He changed the requirements, as well as the way the throne would be passed down.

The moment Simon Snow meets the King’s requirements, he will legally be King, even if that is before his proper coronation. He must be 18. He must be married. He must have received the specific education chosen by the King. 

There was a fine print, of course- he couldn’t have a criminal record, he couldn’t be deemed insane, he had to have been raised traditionally (meaning no sex before marriage, having a goal of reproduction, etc.) (oops). Thankfully these requirements don’t matter so much to the King and Simon isn’t forced to continue these things after he’s become, King.

Basically, once he’s checked off that list, he is automatically legally recognised as King. He will still not be given his responsibilities as one until his coronation, but technically he would be King. So that’s something. 

I wonder if Simon would tell King David to wait for his coronation to execute me.

No. He wouldn’t do that. He may resent me for what I’ve done, but he wouldn’t kill me. Not after everything that’s happened.

Though I guess I wouldn’t mind. It would be better than being killed by the man who murdered my mother, and I’ve always thought Simon would be the one to end me.

I need to stop.

I guess I just have so much time now. So much time and so little at the same time. There’s nothing else to do in these dungeons but think.

I’ll die of insanity before King David gets the chance to put a noose around my neck.

-

SIMON

Baz is gone and I don’t know why and I don’t know how and I need to see Penny. She’ll know what to do. She always knows what to do when I don’t. So I need to see Penny.

Thankfully, she’s had the same idea.

Before I leave the room, Penny’s already barging in, clearly panicking.

“Simon!” she blurts. 

“Penny, what the bloody hell is going on?” I ask immediately. To my surprise, instead of right into a response or a theory, she hugs me tightly. Not expecting it, I tense up at the contact before returning the embrace. She’s pressing her face to my chest, holding on tightly to my waist. “Penny?” I whisper.

“I’m so sorry, Simon,” she mumbles into me. I pull slightly away from her to make eye contact. She won’t look right at me. Oh no.

“Sorry?” 

She frowns. “I should have told you what happened while you were gone. You shouldn’t have to find out this way,” she says, equally as vague. I don’t fucking understand what’s happening. None of it. All of a sudden Baz is getting arrested for who knows what reason and Penny is apologising to me even though she’s done nothing wrong? Not to mention my head still hurts like hell from the massive hangover I have.

“I just want to know what’s happened,” I say urgently. She looks at me.

“While you were gone, Baz… his Aunt Fiona asked him to do something,” she starts. I already don’t like where this is headed. I’ve never trusted that woman- she’s extremely vocal about her opposition to my father. She’s asked Baz to play tricks on me before.

“Yes?” I say. She bites her lip.

“She asked him to go through your father’s room, they thought he was hiding something-”

“He- _what_? Baz broke into my dad’s room?”

“Simon, he… he found something. Something _bad_. About your father.” She looks serious- her jaw sets. My heartbeat quickens.

“What, Penny?”

“Simon-”

“ _What did he find, Penny?_ ” 

She takes a breath. “Simon, I don’t… I don’t know if I should tell you,” she whispers.

“Okay so Baz and his Aunt plot against my father, break into his room, search through his things, find something on him and what? You couldn’t tell me? _Baz_ couldn’t tell me he was going to do something like that? And now you can’t even tell me what he found? That’s bullshit,” I seethe. She presses her lips together.

“I think you need to talk to Baz.”

My face is probably red. “Talk to _Baz_ ? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but _Baz_ is currently busy being sentenced for _conspiring against my father_ ,” I grit my teeth. Her face falls.

“Please don’t hate him for this. He didn’t know what to do. What he found, Simon, no one could possibly have known how to handle it,” she says. I narrow my eyes.

“ _Or_ , he could have just _not plotted against my father_ in the first place,” I retort. “He could’ve at least told me.”

I’m angry at Baz for going behind my back like that. Horrible thoughts start going through my head. Was he just playing with my feelings to distract me? Did he fake all of it just to get me to put my guard down? Was he just waiting for me to be absent to do something like this? Was he lying when he said he loved me?

I don’t want to go there but what if that _is_ the case? How embarrassing would that be? I’ve practically thrown myself at him. I’ve kissed him, I’ve slept in his bed, I’ve shown him every side of me. Jesus fucking Christ, I lost my _virginity_ to him. _I told him I loved him_. 

_Fuck_. I sit down on one of my sofas and put my head in my hands. 

Penny hesitatingly moves to be by my side and places her hand on my back. That makes me want to crawl in a hole and never come back.

I need to see Baz. I need him to explain this to me. I need him to give me some valid reason for why he’d go behind my back like this. I need to know if he used me.

As if she were reading my mind, Penny says, “He didn’t do it to hurt you, you know.” I look down.

“We need to find Baz,” I reply, ignoring her comment. I just need to see Baz. That’s all I need to do right now.

I just keep thinking about that ‘ _what if’_.

How horrifying it would be if it were true.

It won’t be. And if it is, I don’t know what I would do. It would crush me. But it’s not true. I have to keep telling myself that or I’ll go crazy.

“If he’s being accused of treason, they’ll put him in the castle dungeons. Treason is considered to be the worst offense in the book, surely they’d stoop low enough to throw him in there,” she says. 

Baz. In the castle dungeons. Alone. If I don’t see him in the next twenty minutes I’m going to explode. 

“Let’s go, then,” I say.

-

BAZ

I don’t think I’ve ever hated a place more than I hate this fucking cell. 

It’s disgusting and small. It smells like grime and regrets. 

Even if I had a match, I couldn’t set myself on fire if I wanted to. And I want to.

There’s stone, iron bars, more stone. The place is painfully empty- besides the structure of the whole thing, you’d barely be able to tell any human being had ever come here in the past fifty years. And maybe no one had.

I’ve never wanted to see another human so much in my life. _Anyone_ , really. I’m bored out of my goddamn mind. 

I haven’t gotten any news yet on what they’re planning to do with me. Perhaps they’re taking their time with choosing a torture method. I don’t want to be tortured. I’ve long accepted my death, but I’ll end my own life before I’m subjected to torture.

That’s not how I want to go. Over the years I’ve thought up many ways my life would end (something about the fact that my father and the King were constantly on the verge of war told me I wouldn’t make it past 18) (I _have_ made it past 18, barely). I’ll never get to see Simon do the same, though. I sort of expected that, but it’s a little disappointing nonetheless. I hope they don’t execute me before his coronation- I think Simon would look lovely in a bejeweled crown. 

I hear footsteps on the stone of the dungeons. At once, I get up and go to stand near the iron bars. I’m expecting guards to come tell me what’ll be done to me or to give me scraps for lunch. Either one is fine.

Instead, I see the footsteps belong to Simon Snow and Penelope Bunce. 

Well, that’s a surprise. I was sure Simon would figure out what happened and not want to see me. I suppose I was wrong.

When Snow catches sight of me, his eyes turn desperate. And when he finally reaches my cell, he’s giving me that look he has whenever he’s thinking too many things to properly communicate them through words. I back away from the bars.

“Baz!” he breathes. He’s panting- probably from how fast he was moving to get to me. I don’t say anything. “First of all,” he eyes me, “ are you okay?”

I narrow my eyes. Not exactly what I was expecting. “Cold,” I mutter.

“You’re always cold, Baz.”

“Colder,” I don’t make eye contact. Penny stands beside him, her eyes full of sympathy and apology, like it’s her fault I’m here. It isn’t. I did this to myself. I was an idiot.

I probably look like I’ve been through hell and back. They arrested me right after I’d woken up (after a night of drinking and sex no less), and I didn’t have any time to make myself presentable at all. The dungeon’s more than questionable hygiene doesn’t help so much, either.

My head was (and still is) killing me. I want to go to sleep just so I can be unconscious.

“Why’d you come here, Snow?” I say, in the same tone I use when we’re in public and I have to act like I hate him. His face turns red (this is giving me deja vu).

“I needed to talk to you, Baz. About why the hell you were put here,” he growls, and I see his muscles tense. All of it is far too familiar to me.

“How much did Bunce tell you?” I raise an eyebrow. Cross my arms. My walls are coming back up the more he talks. It feels like meeting up with an old friend. 

Bunce looks between Simon and I like she feels the same way. “I just told him that Fiona asked you to look through the King’s room and that you did that. Nothing else. I thought he should hear the rest from you,” she answers in his place. Snow is glaring at me.

I wish I didn’t have to. I thought the hard part was over. Clearly, it isn’t because now I have to explain to an already pissed off Simon Snow that his father hired a man to set me on fire. I’d rather just die right now.

I frown. Turn my gaze from Penelope to Snow. I actually make eye contact this time. I’m more intimidating that way. I don’t know why that’s my intention. My brain’s going back to it’s old mechanisms. “Are you sure you want to know, Snow?” I say it half maliciously and half affectionately. I genuinely would rather just take his anger and not ruin the image of his last family member for him. His face falters.

“Wait, I just- first I need to know something,” he says, desperation creeping into his words. His expression turns shy almost. Scared. 

“What?” I reply, a bit less aggressively this time. He shifts, looking down now. Starts fidgeting with his hands a little. 

“You didn’t just pretend to love me to distract me, right? I just, um-” he clears his throat, “You weren’t faking it?”

I immediately drop the act and get closer to him, closer to the iron bars that separate us. Grab his hand from in between them. We’re both tense.

I sigh. “Of course not. I didn’t lie to you about any of my feelings for you, Simon. I do love you,” I mutter. He looks at me. His jaw sets. Then my hand feels cold and he moves away from the cell.

“Okay,” he says. It hurts. That’s all he says. No ‘ _I love you, too_ ’ or even a sigh of relief. Just ‘ _okay_ ’. Bunce is looking between us again.

I go back to being cold. “Your father’s the one who should be in this cell,” I say. His face is angry again as soon as I do. I try not to mind. 

I start from the beginning of the story.


	17. seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a whole short chapter of baz telling simon everything because it needs its own chapter ok

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not me writing and posting three chapters in less than a week instead of focusing on school and the fact that my mental illness is only getting worse by the day
> 
> anyway I hope you enjoy :) get excited for the next chapter big things are happening 😈😈😈

BAZ

I tell him everything, and it hurts.

I wouldn’t meet up with Fiona because I couldn’t bear to retell what I’d found. But I’ll do it for Simon. He deserves that from me, at least.

I tell him how Fiona told me she wanted me to go through the King’s office because she suspected he had been a part of one of her conspiracies concerning my mother. I tell him I didn’t want to go behind his back while he wasn’t there, but curiosity got the best of me. He frowns the more I talk. 

I tell him I snuck into his father’s office during the night. That for a while I couldn’t find anything until I found a key at the bottom of one of his drawers and a chest under his bed. 

_Here comes the hard part._

I make eye contact with Simon. “What I found in the chest were letters. Ten at most,” I mutter. Bunce and I exchange glances. 

_In the next minute, everything will come crashing down._

Simon squints. “What did they say?”

I take a breath. Look down. Inhale. Exhale.

“Baz,” he says a bit more urgently. I flinch a little. “ _What did they say_?”

_I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to talk about this. I want to forget I ever read those goddamned letters. I want to forget anything ever happened._

I close my eyes. I almost forget to breathe for a second. I remember.

“I was the one who was meant to die that day, you know- why’d she have to be the one instead?” I whisper. My voice almost cracks in the middle of my sentence. I take another deep breath. 

“What?” he replies. My eyes open again. 

“Those letters were sent to your father by a hitman, Snow. A hitman your father hired,” my breath catches and I have to take a second. “To kill me,” I finish.

His eyes go wide. “Baz- what? What are you talking about-“

“That day, the day my mother died- it wasn’t an accident, Snow. The only accident was that _I_ was the target,” My jaw sets. He looks like he’s going to faint. Bunce puts her hand on Simon’s back (I can’t tell if it’s because he needs the emotional support or because he might actually fall over).

“Are you- My father- he- I don’t understand-“

Bunce looks at me, and then back at Simon. “Simon, I think you need to sit down,” she says, helping him settle on the cold stone floor. I join them (I don’t care that the ground is wet and dirty- I care if Simon is okay).

He’s curling in on himself, holding onto his knees. I don’t know how to make this better. 

I let him take a moment to calm down as much as he can (which isn’t much- he’s crying a little and hyperventilating). _This_ is why I didn’t want to tell him anything. _This_ is why I’d rather just let his father execute me, so I won’t have to die knowing Simon Snow had to hear this from me.

But if I’ve learned anything from loving him, it’s that life isn’t always fair. Sometimes beautiful people have to go through horrible shit for no fucking reason, and I can’t do anything to stop it.

_I wish I could stop it._

Eventually, Simon gets to a point where he can form relatively coherent sentences. That makes me feel a little bit better.

“Wait, so- my father hired a hitman to _kill you_?” He whispers (his throat sounds dry, his cheeks are blotchy and tear-streaked) (I hate that I’m on the other side of this cell). “Why-?” He rubs his eyes and clutches his legs closer to his body. His body is shaking a little. 

I look into his eyes. I nod. He inhales waveringly. 

“And your mother died instead?” he mumbles into the fabric of his trousers. I can only see the top half of his face with the way he’s sitting.

I look down and nod again. “There must have been a guard watching me when I left his office. I didn’t think-“

“So when were you planning on telling me?” He’s making eye contact now. I look away.

“Simon,” I start. He holds himself tighter. “I could barely leave my chambers after I read all of that. I couldn’t bear any of it. _I was meant to die, Simon,_ ” I tell him. “ _What a waste of life_ ,” I mutter.

His eyes shoot up at me in an instant. “Don’t say that, Baz.”

“ _It’s the truth-_ “

“Please,” he whispers. I stop.

“Okay.” I sigh, “Simon, I didn’t know what to do with myself. All I wanted was to erase all of it from my brain. Go back in time,” I say. “And I wasn’t about to tell you while you were exhausting yourself trying to plan a wedding.” He frowns again. 

Bunce speaks up. “He told me what happened. I told him he needed a bit of a break before trying to figure out what to do with this mess,” she says. “ _We were going to tell you_. We wouldn’t keep that from you.”

Simon’s looking at her like a lost puppy. I wish I could hold him. “I just- why didn’t you- I-“ he inhales frustratingly. He purses his lips for a second. Then, he looks at me. That makes me feel strangely vulnerable all of a sudden. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers. 

I freeze. “No, Simon, there’s nothing to be sorry about, _you_ didn’t do _anything-“_

“My father killed your mum, Baz,” he cries. 

_If I don’t get out of this cell as soon as possible I might commit a crime._

“ _No, no_ , Simon,” I get as close as I can to the iron bars. “You didn’t do _anything_ , love,” I rush to get the words out. He starts sobbing. I reach for his hand through the cell. He hesitates (that hurts a little), but ultimately takes it. A sigh of relief escapes me.

 _He doesn’t hate me_.

Bunce puts her hand on his back (not to keep him from falling this time, but to make sure he remembers he’s alive). “It’s okay, Simon,” she says softly in reassurance. He’s still looking at me through the water in his eyes. I try not to look down.

SIMON

  
  


_Baz is supposed to be dead._

This is not at all what I expected to happen today. I just wanted to spend today with Baz. Doing nothing but being in each other’s company. That’s all. 

_I didn’t want any of this._

I can’t tell yet whether I wish they just hadn’t told me or not. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to answer that.

But there’s this feeling of dread washing over me- my father tried to kill Baz, and killed his mum instead. My _only family_ did that. That’s something I have to live with now.

I can’t stop staring at Baz. Wondering how he feels. Wondering if my father’s actions will be the only thing he sees when he looks at me.

Just the thought of it makes me cry some more.

PENELOPE

Baz is looking at Simon with so much love I think he might just break through the bars with his bare hands.

  
  


BAZ

I squeeze his hand.

_Things will never be the same._


	18. eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon freaking out :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i thought all of the big stuff was gonna fit into this chapter but I ended up wanting to really take my time with the plot so have this not /as/ exciting but still good (?) chapter that I actually enjoyed writing because I'm in between therapists and psychiatrists at the moment and need somewhere to put my emotions :) Also- I actually wrote this throughout like the entire week on my phone during and in between classes which strangely worked a lot better than what I was doing before??? not for my grades and my physics teacher gave me a side-eye but I'd say it was worth it haha. anyway yeahhhhh I hope you enjoy this long ass chapter!

SIMON

I’m restless. Or, more restless than usual.

Obviously, I can’t be with Baz all hours of the day, but leaving him all alone in the dungeons is horrible. I can’t focus on anything. I just keep thinking about him- him on the cold, wet stone floors, probably not being fed enough and having no comfortable place to sleep.

I can barely eat breakfast without feeling like crying or throwing up everything I just ate. It’s a very new feeling.

Penny and I don’t talk very much this morning. I don’t think I could bear it if she tried to have a normal conversation with me right now. Nothing is right. Everything is _wrong_.

I end up going back to my room earlier than I usually do (most days after breakfast I’d be going out to the gardens or Penny would drag me to the library) (none of that happens today). 

I find myself going to Baz’ instead. Even without him there, I think I would combust if I had to face the loneliness of my own chambers. Here, at least, I can see the remnants of him- the aftermath of Baz’ presence. 

His clothes on the floor (usually they’d be neatly stacked in the wardrobe, but he didn’t have time to be neat after he was arrested). I lock the door behind me, even though it isn’t nighttime. Even though it’s only me here.

I find myself picking his clothes off the floor and folding them like I’ve seen him do in the past. In the mornings, when I’m still groggy and touch starved, Baz is always going around the room picking up the mess I leave in my wake wherever I go. It’s nice to think about that.

When I place his clothing in the wardrobe, I pretend it was him who put it there instead of me. I wonder for a second if I’ll ever get to see him do that again.

Sitting here, alone, I don’t know what to do with myself. I feel as though I’m a different person than I was only a day ago, and it scares me.

Would Baz love this person? Would he miss the old me? The me whose father didn’t have his mother’s blood on his hands? My eyes prick.

For a second I feel glad that he isn’t here, so I can just revel in the fact that anything happened between us in the first place, instead of thinking about what will happen going forward. It scares me to think about the future.

I feel as though I’ve committed the crime myself. Killing his mother. 

I feel ashamed- ugly. Unlovable. Undesirable.

Baz deserves so much more than that. _Agatha_ deserves so much more than that, even. Though I suppose she probably already thinks so anyway.

I wasn’t even alive when it happened, I don’t think. Or maybe I was. But I can imagine it- some man, maybe tall, large, strong- getting into the castle at midnight. Seeing a much younger Baz and wanting to murder him. Wanting to murder _Baz_ . I can barely wrap my head around it. I can barely stand to _think_ about it.

My cheeks are a bit wet. I close my eyes.

I imagine baby Baz sleeping, completely unaware of the assassin leaning over him. The man taking a match, looking at his wooden cradle, and _dropping it_. 

Baz wishes he’d have been the one to die. I could see it in his eyes. The way he looked down, voice dropped to almost a whisper. 

_‘Don’t say that, Baz.’_

_‘Please_ ,’ I’d said.

_Please._

I just wanted him to stop. More than anything, I wanted him to stop. But I know that no amount of begging could get him to stop the thoughts from coming to his head.

I’ve seen matches around the room before. Packs and packs of them. In the bottom drawers and under the pillows. I’ve seen matches burnt almost to the very end near the fireplace. I hate matches. I hate imagining what Baz would think about doing with them.

I wish I could thank Natasha. For saving him. I would thank her a million times, forever and ever. Until my voice runs out and I can thank her no more. Until my throat hurts and my jaw aches. Even then, it would not be enough. A soft sob escapes me before I have the time to stop it.

Baz will have to find someone else to love, now. Someone who isn’t damaged goods from birth. He must be glad I’m getting married soon. It’s a good excuse to forget I ever existed.

And I’ll have to pretend everything is fine when I’m with my father. Like nothing is wrong. 

The rest of my life will be that way. Pretending. Acting like I married for love, acting like I’m _happy_. My stomach churns just at the thought.

Baz has convinced himself I’ll learn to love Agatha once we’re married. He’s said it to me before when he’s feeling sad or particularly self-destructive. I wish he wouldn’t.

At first, I think that I believed him, for just a moment. Before I knew I was in love with him. Now, I know it would be impossible.

I can’t stand to be here anymore- in Baz’ room, with myself. I leave.

Going back to my room feels strange. Stranger than it’s ever felt. Because that’s where _old_ Simon lived. It doesn’t feel like _mine_ anymore _._ It only feels like some sort of museum for a dead prince.

It’s ugly.

When I catch sight of the slashes on the bed frame, I grimace. Someone else inflicted them, angry that Baz wasn’t looking their way and didn’t know why they wanted him to. 

Now Baz _will_ look at me, but differently. Not like I wanted him to when I swung my sword. Now, he’ll look at me with pain, or anger, or perhaps disgust. Or not at all. 

All I’ll have left is Penny, who will probably get married in a couple of years and move out of the castle, and Agatha, who can barely have a full conversation with me without rolling her eyes or falling asleep. 

I realise now how I’ve taken most of my belongings out of my chambers and into Baz’s, making the place look unbelievably empty and hollow. 

Will I have to bring all of my things back? I don’t want to. I don’t know if I’d be capable of it. Perhaps I’ll have to get an entirely new wardrobe just to avoid it.

I throw myself onto my bed, having forgotten how much more rigid it is compared to Baz’s. When I’d returned here during wedding preparations, I couldn’t spend a single night on it. Maybe I’ll go back to sleeping on the sofa like I did then.

-

  
  


I wake up when I hear a fairly loud knock at the door.

Even in my own room, I’d locked it. Force of habit, I suppose.

“Yes?” I call out from the sofa (I hadn’t planned on falling asleep- I was more tired than I thought). 

“Prince Simon? The King requests your presence,” a voice says, slightly muffled, from behind the door. I get up lazily and rub my eyes, groaning. “Prince Simon?”

I pad over to the door. “Yes, yes,” I mutter. When I open the door, I’m greeted with a servant who’s clearly been sent to fetch me. I’m glad I hadn’t been in Baz’s room.

“King David wants to see you, your highness,” the servant bows. I knit my eyebrows together.

“He does? Do you know why?” I say warily. It’s never a good thing with him. And I don’t _want_ to see him. I don’t _ever_ want to see him again if it’s possible. My heart is already speeding up.

“He didn’t share his intentions with me, your highness,” he says. My bite my lip and nod. 

“Alright. I’ll make my way there on my own. Thank you,” I mutter. He nods silently and leaves me. I take a deep breath. I feel a little lightheaded. Whether it be from having just woken up from a nap or from the interaction, I don’t know.

I have to lean on the large door frame for more than a second before departing the room. But, I do. Eventually.

The entirety of my walk to my father’s office, I feel so agitated I almost have to stop halfway through to sit down. 

_God_ , I don’t want to see him. How will I look in his eyes? 

The doors to his office feel incredibly larger than I remember. It’s agonising. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.

My hands get sweaty and clammy when my eyes go to the doorknobs. I don’t want to.

I knock. It takes more strength than ever.

“Simon?” My heart speeds up at the sound of his voice. It feels like my lungs are being strangled all of a sudden. I think I’m sweating, although the temperature in the hallway is colder than usual.

I swallow. “Yes, it’s me,” I respond weakly. My hands are shaking. It takes me a bit longer than it should for me to get a grip on one of the knobs and twist it.

Once the door is open, and I see my father, my breath catches in my throat. He’s just sitting there at his desk, legs crossed, like nothing’s changed.

I close the door behind me, slamming it slightly unintentionally. He narrows his eyes. “All right, Simon?” I inhale again. Exhale. “You look quite red in the face,” he says. 

I nod. “Did you need more for something?” 

He stands up from his seat. I flinch. I’m scared he’ll go near me.

Thankfully, he just stayed where he was, looking at me. His stare seemed to be choking me. I tried to remember how to breathe. I just hoped he didn’t notice.

“Yes, I do,” he starts. My left hand is gripping at my trousers as he talks. “It’s about Basilton Pitch.” I need to control myself. I can hardly keep from hyperventilating.

_What does he want with him? What does he want with me?_

“Yeah?” I usually would try to sound formal and composed around him, but I can’t today. Maybe not ever again.

“I thought, with how much you’ve seemed to despise him, that you’d want to know he’s been arrested as of yesterday morning.” He looks at me sceptically. I refrain from telling him I knew that already. That I was there when it happened. 

“Oh?” I try to make my voice seem excited, or not disappointed at the very least. I fail for the most part. I just sound confused.

“Yes. And seeing as you’ve always wanted him arrested, I wanted you to help with deciding his sentence. Or, at least the methods we’ll use for interrogation. And then, of course, execution.” I almost throw up right there when he says that. My heart sinks and my throat goes dry. 

The way he said it- like it was a natural progression, like Baz’s death was nothing if not inevitable. 

_Please don’t hurt him. Please don’t hurt him. Leave him alone. Please, please, please._

I have the urge to run. Run through hallways and down steps and through doors to the dungeons, where Baz is probably waiting to know what will happen to him. 

_Leave him alone. Leave him alone. Please leave him alone._

“What?” 

He raises his eyebrow the way Baz does and I want to hit him. “Mr Pitch was arrested for breaking into my office and attempting to sabotage the Crown. He’ll need to be interrogated in case there was anyone else involved,” he says, seeming annoyed at my one-word answers.

_Don’t touch him. Don’t you dare go near him._

“Whether you want to contribute or not, we’ll begin in a couple of days. Your wedding to Miss Wellbelove will have to be delayed until after you’ve turned 18. You’ve already proposed, so I don’t think it will be much of a problem, though that means you’ll have to wait a bit longer for your coronation as well.”

My sight is beginning to blur and I have to try my hardest not to let any tears fall. I’ve never cried so much in such a short period of time. It’s all just so overwhelming. So many emotions to feel and not enough space to feel them. Everything feels so much worse now.

“I thought you’d be glad to hear the news, Simon. Is it the delay to the wedding that upsets you? I can’t do much to change that,” he says, and he starts walking closer to me. I back away. He watched me.

“Yes, yes. I, um… I wasn’t- I didn’t want to wait so long,” my voice cracks a bit and I come close to cussing. “I- does Agatha know-?” I’m already getting closer to the door.

“No, I’m telling her and her family later today. Simon, are you quite alright?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I just- I need to go,” I say. I couldn’t get to the door fast enough.

-

I go to Penny’s room.

_We need to get Baz out of there as soon as is physically possible._

I’m walking as fast as I can. So much I nearly trip over my own feet a few times.

As soon as I reach it, I yank the door open.

_Hurry up. Hurry up. Hurry up._

Penny’s there, sitting on the side of her bed, with a familiar man to her left.

“Simon?” Her eyebrows knit together. I slam the door behind me and make my way to her. “Simon, what’s going on-?”

“We need to go right now,” I say desperately. The man beside her narrows his eyes. I want him to leave.

“Wait, Simon, _stop_ -“

“It’s urgent, we need to-“ 

“Simon!” I swallow my words. I’m gonna cry.

The man beside her stands up. “I’m Shepard,” he extends his hand for me to shake. I look him up and down. There’s a silence. _It’s him._ The bloke Penny’s been interested in since practically the first ball we held.

I hesitate, but shake his hand. He smiles. I want to leave already. I don’t want to leave Baz alone for another second.

Usually, introductions between myself and new acquaintances would be much more ritualistic, with titles and ‘your highness’s and such. He must be _very friendly_ with Penny. I narrow my eyes.

I look at Penny. “Penny, I need to talk to you. _Alone_ ,” I mutter. My fingers are tapping my legs with how anxious I am. 

_We need to go. We need to go. We need to go._

She looks at me for a second, setting her jaw. Then, “Okay,” she turns to Shepard, “Shepard, I’m sorry, but I need to talk to Simon,” she clears her throat. 

Shepard looks at Penny, and then at me. “Alright. If you need me for anything, you know where to find me,” he replies.

I wait impatiently for Shepard to leave. Once he does, I go back to distressingly insisting to Penny.

“What’s happened?” she says. I keep from grabbing her arm.

“It’s Baz,” I get out. “My father told me they’re planning on beginning an interrogation in a couple of days.” It comes out more anguished than I intend it to. It doesn’t matter.

“Interrogation as in…?” 

My fists clench. I can’t explain it to her fast enough and it’s frustrating. “Torture, Penny. My father practically asked me what method I wanted them to use. _We can’t let them-_ ”

“Simon, _Simon_ , please- nothing is going to happen to him,” she assures me. Somehow it doesn’t make me feel any better (although usually Penny always makes me feel better). “We can figure something out.” I bite lip. My eyes sting. 

“I can’t- I won’t let them- If they-” I’m breathing and breathing and breathing but oxygen doesn’t enter my lungs.

“Simon, please calm down,” she places her hand gently on my bicep. It doesn’t help. 

“Penny- What if- If he- They-” There are tears now. And I find myself on the ground. I couldn’t stand for much longer. My knees were too weak to keep me from falling. Penny’s trying to comfort me by rubbing my back and I just want to tell her to stop. It’s too much right now. I feel like all of my senses are overloading.

It’s only when she takes her hand away that I begin to control myself again. That makes me feel horrible. 

It’s not that I don’t appreciate her reassurance, but I can’t handle so much at a time. That’s not her fault. 

“Simon,” she whispers. I look at her. “Go see Baz. Tell him what’s going on, and that we’re going to get him out. I’ll stay here and come up with a plan.” Her voice is soft and non-accusatory. That _does_ help. I swallow, then nod silently. 

“Okay,” I mumble. I’m grateful for her. _I’d thank her just as I’d thank Natasha._

-

BAZ

  
  


I’m surprised to see Simon.

Yesterday, I felt like he was a shard of glass in the palm of my hand- it could be further shattered at any moment, and if I moved at all, I’d be cut. That was him. Curled in on himself, tears spilling out onto his crimson cheeks. Flinching at my touch.

But he’s come to see me. 

“Baz?” He sounds hesitant, like yesterday. I get up off the ground, where I’d been leaning on the wall and tried to will myself to fall asleep again, just to not be awake. My hands go to the bars (I’m a little desperate- it gets awfully lonely and quiet down here). But when he comes closer, I back away. I don’t know why, but I feel as though it would hurt him to be too close. I don’t want to hurt him.

“Snow,” I clear my throat. I look horrendous. I don’t need a mirror to know that. Suddenly, I just want to hide from him. It’s much harder to look cold and distant and unnerved when you look like you’ve been through hell. He sighs. I purse my lips.

After a beat of silence, he sits, back to the cell. I’m watching him closely. 

I sit down, too, behind him, so our backs are touching the slightest bit through the bars. I can feel him recoil a little, before stopping and leaning more comfortably against them. I take a deep breath.

“I needed to see you,” he starts. I don’t expect it. Or maybe I don’t know what to expect from him anymore.

SIMON

I want to hold his hand, but I don’t know how to ask.

BAZ

“Has something happened?” I say it like I don’t believe he’d come here just out of a pure desire to be with me. It isn’t intentional, but it isn’t dishonest either. 

I feel him shift behind me. “I just- yes. My father… he told me that he’s planning on using torture to interrogate you in a couple of days. And then execute you,” he says. The more he says, the more his words become whispers. Weak, frightened whispers.

The news doesn’t shock me. I fully expected for this to happen. But, by the sound of it, Simon hadn’t thought of it before now. I hum in response. He twists around to face me and I do the same, though less urgently.

“ _Baz_ ,” he looks exasperated.

“Simon,” I answer. Like it makes sense. He looks like he’s going to cry. 

“I won’t let them come near you. _I won’t let them_ ,” he says. He searches my eyes. I don’t give him anything. I don’t want to make this painful for him. He should have known it would end this way, whether it be for treason or for being queer, the outcome was always the same. If not, we’d still end up never seeing each other again. 

“It’s okay, Simon-”

“ _No, Baz._ It’s not fucking okay. None of it is. I’m not going to let them hurt you,” he insists. Now his expression has changed a bit- he looks like he’s pleading with me. 

SIMON

I love him so much, but saying it to him now feels impossible. I just hope he knows. 

BAZ

“Let them, Simon-”

“ _Stop!_ Stop. Stop, _please_ . Don’t do that to yourself. Or, at least, don’t do it to _me_.” He grabs the bars. I look at his hands. Then back up at him. I narrow my eyes. He swallows. I see his Adam’s apple bob up and down. He looks like he’s thinking about something now. He’s just as easy to read as he’s always been.

Carefully, he takes his hands off the metal and surprises me for perhaps the millionth time, reaching for one of my own hands and wrapping both of his around it. Squeezing it. I set my jaw.

He closes his eyes and puts his forehead to it. His hands are shaking a bit. Then, he whispers, “It would be worse than death, Baz, to be left on Earth with you gone.”

My breath stops.


	19. nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> operation: don't let baz get executed even though you're still a little pissed at him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> admittedly while writing this chapter I got a bit sidetracked when I found out GOOGLE DOCS HAS A TRANSLATE DOCUMENT TOOL,,,, so I spent some time in the middle of writing it just translating it into Spanish and french because seeing your own dramatic writing in your native language hits so different. I never knew I needed to hear Simon cursing at Baz in Spanish, but I definitely did. It was an otherworldly experience.
> 
> also- I'm feeling like I might change the desc. of this work. thoughts???
> 
> anyway, hope you enjoy this kinda short and not super exciting but still alright chapter! please leave comments, kudos, and bookmarks if you like this work :)

BAZ

“She would have liked you, I think. My mum. Maybe not so much your political stance, but I’ve been told she appreciated stubbornness in people,” I say. He actually laughs a little. That makes me grin.

He’s a little more comfortable now. Or, he seems to be. He’s holding my hand. That’s enough for me.

“Do you remember much of your mum, Baz?” He hums. His eyes are closed. He looks lovely. 

“Not as much as I’d like to. I remember less of her appearance- all I know is she looked like me. They tell me I have her nose,” I say. He smiles a little and his eyes flutter open the slightest bit to look at me. Or, to look at my nose.

It’s a bit crooked, courtesy of 15-year-old Simon Snow. I don’t mind. “You do have a nice nose,” he retorts. I want to kiss him, but the iron bars are stopping me. That, and other things.

I sigh. “I remember more of her as a person, I suppose. Her place in my life. How much she loved me,” I say. It comes out a bit hesitant. I don’t usually talk about her. But it’s _Simon_. If there’s anyone I’d share her memory with, it’s him.

He closes his eyes again. “You really think she would have liked me?” He asks like he’s trying to hide how much he wants reassurance from me.

I imagine it- my mum and him meeting. Introducing him as my lover, or as a friend, or as a Prince. She’d look at me first, searching my eyes for my intentions, then to him. 

Maybe she’d address him formally, or maybe she’d realise what he means to me and just say a simple ‘ _hello’_ to him as a sign of affection. 

_Wouldn’t that be something?_

And then Simon would bow clumsily, words tumbling out of his mouth, and she’d give me a knowing look. ‘ _This is him, then?’_ she’d ask through her gaze. And I’d bite back a smile.

“She would have,” I reply, squeezing his hand. He squeezes back. That means a lot more to me than he’ll ever know.

I don’t like to think about if my mother would hate me for being queer. I’ve done it nonetheless, and it hurts every time. But whenever I have hope that she wouldn’t- that she would love me just the same, it’s a nice thought. 

SIMON

I know how he really feels. Or, how he’s felt in the past. But with the way Baz has described his mother- kind and sophisticated- I refuse to believe she’d ever stop loving her son for being who he is.

_‘My mother hung the moon,’_ he’d said.

BAZ

“Simon,” I mutter. He looks at me when I say his name. “If I die, I want you to know-“

“Don’t say that, Baz.”

SIMON

_Don’t say that._

_Don’t tell me you’re a waste of life._

_Don’t tell me you’d let them hurt you._

_Don’t tell me you’d leave me._

_Please_

BAZ

He doesn’t want to face it. That one way or another, we have to end this. He doesn’t want to hear it.

That’s okay. I’ll do it for the both of us.

“As kids, when we would race, I’d let you win. Over and over again,” I say softly. His eyebrows furrow. 

“Baz, what does that have to do with-?“

“And I’d move pieces around when you weren’t looking sometimes, so you’d beat me,” I smile a little at the memory of it. How even when I didn’t know I loved him, I couldn’t stop myself. And then, when I did know, I continued. 

I sigh. “When I said a ridiculous amount of time, I meant it, Simon.” I almost don’t believe I’ve said it, but I have. Because I don’t know how much longer I’m allowed to have him. Or if I still do. 

Our eyes meet. He doesn’t say anything, but I can tell by the way he looks at me that he wants to.

_Say it, Simon. Tell me everything I want to hear and everything I don’t._

It’s nearly hard to believe that he’d told me he loved me only a couple of days ago. I can’t imagine him saying it now, no matter how many small chuckles or adoring comments escape him. It hurts, but I won’t say anything to him about it, even if I may very well die soon. 

He’d kissed me roughly, hands in my hair, mine on his waist. He’d kissed me, and he’d kissed me, and he’d kissed me. The Simon looking at me right now doesn’t look like he’d do that again. My eyes wander to the crevices of the stone walls. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what was happening with Fiona,” I say. His breath hitches. “I shouldn’t have gone behind your back like that.” I mean what I say, but I’m not sure how much I regret my actions. I wish I’d told him, yes, but I don’t think that would have stopped me from doing what I did. 

He probably knows that. It’s the one thing I have never hidden from him- my hatred for his father. 

“I just- You don’t know how much I missed you, Baz,” he whispers. “I missed you so much, and I thought maybe I was being needy and dramatic like I always am, but, I don’t know- I thought- I thought, maybe you would sneak into my room one night or try to meet me in a storage closet because you missed me as much as I did you. It was all I could think about. And now- Well, now, knowing what it was you were _actually_ doing…,” he trails off.

My heart wrenches. I didn’t know that. I mean, I knew he missed me, but I thought he would have been too busy and too tired to mind my absence. And I always assumed I was the one out of the two of us who had a tendency to dramatise any given situation. “Simon, I’m so sorry-”

“Just forget it, Baz,” he says abruptly. I swallow my words. I don’t know what I could possibly do to make him feel better. Of course I missed him. _Of course I did._ And I should have been trying to meet up with him instead of plotting with my aunt. But I can’t change that now.

-

SIMON

When I’ve left the dungeon, I feel empty inside. 

I can’t tell if the hollow feeling is coming from having left Baz in his cell, all alone and with nothing but his self to keep him company, or if it’s the unfinished conversation between us that’s left me this way. Or both.

Either way, I don’t feel great. I feel weighed down. Disappointed. 

_And what are you disappointed about now, Simon Snow?_

I’m overwhelmed with the thoughts going through my head- _how do I get Baz out before anything happens to him? How do I begin to accept my father’s actions? How do I face him?_

And yet, even with that, I’m also just sad. Entirely sad. Because I wanted to keep hearing about Baz’s mum. About how Baz thinks she would have liked me. Maybe he’s right. In some alternate universe, perhaps Natasha would have wanted to meet me. In a universe where I’m not a prince and nobody cares whether you like blokes or not. 

It’s hard to say whether Baz was being honest or not- though I suppose I’ve never been great at reading him. He wants it that way, I think. 

I used to think I knew him better than anyone. Back when we hated each other. I would tell everyone that I knew Baz like the back of my hand. It was foolish of me to think so, then. But, now, well.

Even if his mother would have despised me, even if he doesn’t regret anything he’s ever done without telling me, I know Baz. I know the way his hair looks splayed out on pillows and grass and sheets. I know the curve of his spine, the arches of his brows. I think I would know Baz even through anger and anxiety and death. 

The truth is, I _do_ know him better than anyone. But Baz is impossible to fully understand. And first, he has to let you. And though he calls me stubborn, he is just as much as I am. 

I wonder, sometimes, what would have happened if I hadn’t kissed him that night. If he would have pretended to hate me forever. If I would have ever realised my feelings for him. 

Penny’s in my room when I get there, sitting on the sofa with her legs crossed. She’s been waiting patiently for me.

PENELOPE

I let Simon take his time when he went down to see Baz- I knew they needed some time alone to talk about everything. The entire time Baz and I were explaining to him all that had happened, I felt like I wasn’t meant to be there. The way Baz kept looking at Simon- it felt private. Intimate in this odd way I’ve never really witnessed before.

So I was more than fine with waiting in Simon’s room for a little longer than might have been conventional.

And it gave me more time to figure out a plan.

“Simon,” I stand up. He closes the door behind him, then looks at me. He looks sad. I don’t ask him about it, though, because I don’t think I can fix whatever it is he needs fixing. 

“Pen,” he walks over to me. I want to hug him, but something tells me that won’t help. “I’m so sorry I took so long to get back,” he says, and his eyes turn apologetic. I shake my head.

“No- it’s alright, Si. Actually, the extra time turned out to be quite useful. I have a plan,” I respond. His ears seem to prick up in that instant.

“You do?” he asks. I nod. He seems to become slightly less tense.

“Yes,” I glance at him. “It’s simple- You go see the King, where I’m sure the keys to the cells in the dungeons are since it isn’t the general prison, I make sure that the King gets distracted, you get the keys, we go to the dungeons and you get Baz out of the castle safely while I make sure no one watches,” I say. He narrows his eyes.

“And how do you plan on distracting my father?” he asks. I sigh and rock on my heels.

“Well,” I start. “I was thinking…” 

His eyebrows knit together. “What?”

“I was thinking I could pay Fiona Pitch a visit and ask her to do us a favour,” I say. His face is already beginning to redden. 

“No.”

“Simon-”

“No, Penny. I’m not letting that woman come to the castle again after what she tried to pull off last time she was here. Not to mention she basically let Baz take the blame for it,” he flares. I frown. 

“What do you want her to do, then? Turn herself in and practically obliterate any chances Baz may have of avoiding execution?” I try not to sound too harsh because I know with what happened that he probably sees Fiona as some evil woman whose sole goal was to break him and Baz up or take the Crown, but, frankly, it’s the only chance we’ve got.

He purses his lips. Looks away. “I hadn’t…. I hadn’t thought of it that way,” he huffs. I sigh again.

“Look, Simon, I know you don’t like her, and that’s _fine_ , but without her, Baz will most certainly be executed,” I say stiffly. His face flushes. _I’ve got him._

After a moment of silence, he scowls, then nods hesitantly. “Alright. Just tell me I don’t have to talk to her,” he mutters. 

“You don’t have to talk to her.”

SIMON

I don’t like Fiona Pitch. 

She has to have known _something_ about Baz and me. She must have known we’re lovers, or she wouldn’t have suggested what she did to Baz at the exact time that she did.

She hit me right where it hurt. 

_She’s just like Baz- always plotting. Not to be trusted._

I hate that that thought comes to mind. It’s not fair of me to continue bashing Baz for what he did when he’s already apologised to me multiple times. I can’t help it, though.

All my life I thought of Baz as untrustworthy and morally depraved, and it’s hard to not go back to that after what he did.

But I’ll think of Fiona Pitch however I want to. I know her intentions. Whether it was to make me insecure about Baz’s and I’s relationship or not, I know her ultimate goal was to take my father down.

Yes, I hate what my father did. _I hate it so much it’s tearing me up inside._ But that doesn’t mean I don’t love him. He’s the only thing I have left. 

PENELOPE

“Then do what you have to, Penny,” he says, defeated. 

I look at him sympathetically. I hate having to put him through this. Seeing his father, tolerating Fiona. If Baz wasn’t in need of our help I would have tried my best to make sure he never had to deal with them again.

Alas, it’s necessary, and I could tell by how he acted earlier that he’s desperate to get Baz out as soon as possible. So that’s what we’ll do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah ok I have yet another question for you guys (I wish there was some sort of way to do a poll on here or something haha)--  
> 1\. should I maybe write a Valentine's Day one shot (still snowbaz)?  
> and if so  
> 2\. would any of you actually read it?


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